


mutiny

by Zekkass



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: Origin Story, Original Character(s), Other, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-27
Updated: 2020-03-27
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:00:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 30,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23342851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zekkass/pseuds/Zekkass
Summary: Long before the civil war, Blitzwing and Astrotrain are space pirates. They set out to raid a Quintesson lab for science-y treasures, and find Skywarp instead. Thing is, their crew deserts them out of fear of Quintessons, and that puts a wrench in things.Sci-fi adventures ensue, and we get an origin story for Skywarp's teleportation abilities.
Comments: 5
Kudos: 7





	mutiny

**Author's Note:**

> ...but as my posting trend indicates, this is another permanently unfinished work! I wrote 30k worth of it, and then wandered off and I'm just as disappointed in myself as you are.
> 
> Anyways, from what I remember the fic covers the rescue of Skywarp, the recovery of the crew, his integration into it, and then they head off to Cybertron as past!me headed off to college again, and writing stopped. Which is to say, I guess it works as an ending? It doesn't stop mid-scene, at least.
> 
> I wrote this in 2016, I think, and it has some touch up here and there but it's completely unbetaed, probably has typos, and I'm still fond of it. If you read it - I hope you enjoy it. It's my personal headcanon for Skywarp's origins, which links in with basically every other G1 thing I write, as I construct a giant awkward headcanon version of G1.
> 
> Again, if you don't read it - no problem, I'll try to finish things in the future.

It's quiet down in the galley, genuine fear winning out over nerves. No one trades gossip or meets anyone's optics for long. Fuel goes down in fast gulps, cubes tossed in the recycler without ever being set on a table or filled with seconds. Quiet holds even as the second-shift mechs shuffle in and through their refueling.

The captains don't yet know what's happening here, but they won't be ignorant for long. The last cube is put away hastily, nerves mounting as time begins to run out. Either this is happening, or...

One mech with officer's stripes on her shoulders walks into the crowded galley. Most of the crew relaxes. Some tense further. With this officer here, it's no longer a lingering shift change. It's downright mutiny, and they're all in trouble.

The officer rakes them all with a burning gaze and crosses to the center of the room. Movement stops, every optic in the room fixing on her. Moment of truth.

"You're here. You know the score. Captains want a suicide run on a Quint lab. It's personal for them, not for us. We're not going. This ain't cowardice, crew. Not when we signed on for profit. Quint experiments don't turn credits and they always end with Sharkticon battalions down your intakes."

She sweeps the galley with another hard gaze, hands on her hips. She stares down the faltering cowards, puts them all in line before she speaks again.

"Captains'll claim we got a moral duty to anyone in the labs being tortured. They'll claim it's worth dying for, stopping a Quint scientist.

"I say they're wrong! I refuse to die for a soft-sparked mercy mission. That ain't who we are. That ain't _what_ we are. If we wanted to die for a cause, for someone else's plating, we'd get back to Cybertron and fall back in line with whoever's leading the Decepticons today.

"No. No, we are not going into that Quint lab. We're free, and it ain't cowardice if it means you're alive _and_ free tomorrow."

There are cheers, a unified crew eagerly accepting the rope she's thrown them all. With her leadership and her justifications, they can go ahead with the plan she quickly lays out for them.

Within the cycle their former captains have had blasters pushed into their face-plates, their safety and a shuttle traded for the access codes to the entirety of the ship, authority handed over the lead mutineer, an officer who trades her officer's stripes for the captain's bars.

No one suffers even a dent in the exchange of power, and within the cycle they're headed out-system, intent on saner adventures.

//

"I'd like to rip her arms off too, but she had a point," Blitzwing says, meeting Astrotrain's glare without flinching. "Asters, you _know_ how much Quintessons scare the average mech - look, even I'm terrified of this idea. More, now that we don't have backup. I don't know if we can do this."

Cowardice out of his best friend's mouth. Astrotrain glares more, watches Blitzwing close his trap. He waits until it hurts.

 _Then_ he leans in very close, getting nose to nose with Blitzing. He can see the faint glow of his optics through his visor, this close.

"Whatever the Quintessons are doing in that lab, we're ending it." At this distance, his voice hurts to hear, that glitchy echo threatening sensitive audials. It makes for a weapon, this close. _"Today."_

Blitzwing winces, glow fading as he closes his optics, field turning properly submissive.

"I know. I'm in, Astrotrain. You know I'm with you. I'm just not happy the crew's out."

Astrotrain sits back up and shrugs.

"They would have slowed us down. There would have been casualties. Now there won't be. Not for us."

It works: Blitzwing cracks a shaky smile, confidence filtering back into his field.

"I guess you've got a point. So what's the plan?" Instant shift in direction, practically a test. If Blitzwing can throw him off the tracks and make him scramble to catch up, he's not in charge. It's how their captaincy worked: whoever had the lead, led.

Astrotrain smirks. He's been thinking about plans since they were shoved in here.

"Simple. Point this shuttle at the lab and broadcast a distress signal. If they pick us up early, we wreck 'em and ride their ship in. If they don't, we carve our own way in. Got it?"

"Got it!" Blitzwing gives him a thumbs up, and lets him get to work explaining the finer details.

//

It's a long wait made longer as old ugly memory files get accessed and relived. Blitzwing sits behind the shuttle's single pilot chair, wishing he could coax Astrotrain out so he could lean on his shoulder, but someone has to watch the sensors for Sharkticons.

So he's as close as he dares to get, EM field held wide open to take in Astrotrain's steady, patient presence - but fields go both ways, and at even intervals they both shut down their fields just to keep fear from setting up a devastating feedback loop.

"Forget what they did to us," Astrotrain says during the second break. "Get the floorplans and fighting styles and shut it down. What we've been through isn't a death sentence, it's a guarantee that we can make it out again. We _know_ how those slaggers die, Blitzwing. Remember _that."_

As inspirational speeches go, it works. It activates the right emotional tags, leads Blitzwing to the part in his memory file where he pulled the face off of a Quintesson that got too close.

The metal of the face had peeled right off of the monster's body, its shriek going shriller and shriller as he'd turned its own face sideways and used it as a dagger, shoving it deep into its own internals. His arm had come back covered in purple fluids, and that had been enough to kill any fear left in him. One of his masters was dead, and he could do it again, easy.

The Quintesson guards and Sharkticons hadn't been easy, but by then he had Astrotrain freed and his own cannon powered up. They'd escaped on their own that day - and now they'll free someone else like them.

"Hey," Blitzwing says. "Think we'll find more triplechangers?"

Denial flicks through their fields, coupled with a thoughtful hum as Astrotrain considers it.

"It'll be a new experiment. Maybe quadchangers, or a new kind of gestalt. Expect anything, as long as it's horrifying."

"...Right." Quadformers. Upsetting to even contemplate, what with how he knows intimately the ways a spark can reject new altmodes. He's felt his spark leave its orbit and start splintering before, and frag him but he can't stand the thought of doing that over and over with new experimental altmodes. "How many dead will we find?"

He blurts the question, regrets it immediately. They won't find any. Quintessons don't keep empty frames when they can reuse them.

Astrotrain's field flicks off, and he leans forward in his seat, away from Blitzwing.

"We're looking for the living. Now get ready, I think they realized we're out here."

Blitzwing's on his pedes and thinking in terms of firepower before he realizes it's a lie, meant to kick him out of brooding. None of their sensors are going off, and when he leans over Astrotrain's shoulder to see for himself there's nothing.

"Sit back down and get that data," Astrotrain orders without looking at him. "If this lab is laid out in the same way, we need to know."

Blitzwing sits back down with an annoyed clatter, crossing his arms as he gets to work.

It comes out quickly, now that he's mad enough to ignore emotional tags, and the cycle's not even over when he reaches out to Astrotrain's arm to plug into a port hidden there. They both shiver at the connection, but Blitzwing keeps it professional, sending simple floorplans.

Astrotrain lines those images up with his, flattens the file and gives him a copy.

"If we're lucky they used the same layout here."

"Yeah," Blitzwing murmurs, unplugging from the port and spooling his cable back into his hand. He doesn't say that they've been unlucky so far.

He gets up, has a look over Astrotrain's shoulder - they're still cycles out from the lab unless they get picked up, and frag but he hates waiting.

Sure, he's good at it now. Waiting's the name of the game in his profession, but it's one thing screwing around by a baited trap waiting for some lightly defended merchanter, and another to sail blithely into a heavily armed Quintesson lab.

"Get some recharge," Astrotrain says. "Stay up here and make me nervous and I'll rip your treads off."

"Recharge, now? Asters - "

"Take a light sleep cycle and don't argue. You'll have time to focus before they bust in, and I don't need you sitting around fretting."

Silence. It's a good idea, if he's willing to trust Astrotrain that far. Could be he'll wake up in a cell - oh, who is he kidding. He can't even fake the suspicion in his own processors.

"Thanks," he says quietly, and goes back to the single berth.

//

The Sharkticon patrol finds them five cycles out, diverting from their route to vacuum their shuttle up into their ship's swollen cargo bay. It's a standard Sharkticon tactic: pick up everything, strip out what they want later, and dump the excess at pre-arranged drop-off points. It's an ongoing galactic mystery: did the Sharkticons make Junkion, or did those scavengers convince the Sharkticons to use their home as a dumping ground?

Astrotrain keeps his blaster at the ready as they open the shuttle's door, uninterested in the mystery, more interested in finding the ship's control room and taking it for himself.

Golden-green light filters into the shuttle as the door opens, a hazy mess of a cargo bay waiting just outside. The atmosphere's thick and humid, already unpleasant on the plating and cooling systems, but there's no chance they'll find a way to fix it while they're here, and it's not enough to impair their functioning. They've landed in a pile of debris, not too far from the wall. Astrotrain pushes a second control, releasing the ramp, which flops down at a crooked angle, its hinges complaining as Astrotrain walks down it, swinging his head left to right, sensors dialed up to detect any guards.

There's nothing but haze, so Astrotrain steps off the edge of the ramp, landing on a rusted grate that clatters and tips him onto another uneven slope. Most of the junk's metal, bits and pieces from other starships - but there are stranger things, multi-colored alien things he's careful not to step on, for fear of setting off devices he doesn't understand.

::Look up,:: Blitzwing sends from his vantage point on the ramp, so Astrotrain does: the ship's wall curves inward, puckering around an oval opening at the ceiling. It's impossible to pick out any details through the haze, but he can pick out heat signatures.

::We need to get up there,:: Astrotrain sends, and that's all it takes to get Blitzwing airborne, transforming into his second altmode and pulling a tight curving path up through the haze and in.

He hates how he can't follow, but he can't afford to sit around a wait. So: he makes his way to the wall and follows it, looking for any exit into the rest of the ship.

There's a boom from above, and the ship shakes around him with the force of Blitzwing's cannon blasts. Astrotrain smiles grimly to himself, relishing the thought of dead Sharkticons, and the thought of Blitzwing getting the chance to let loose in battle.

The sound of the battle above fades, drowned out by the grinding shriek of little-used doors opening. A panel's retracted on the wall ahead of him, and Astrotrain blows the first Sharkticon's head off with a charged blaster shot as soon as it pops into view. The second Sharkticon he gets in the gut, and by then his running charge takes him into the thick of things. He slams the butt of his blaster into faces and throws punches, roaring when a shot burns a hole through one of his wings.

That shivering howl, a byproduct of his second, alien altmode, stuns his attackers, giving him precious time he uses to tear through them, fighting his way out of the unit and up the corridor.

It's not hazy here where the crew lives and works, but the atmosphere is _wet,_ worse than the humidity of the bay and hotter besides - damned unpleasant. It forces his fans on to compensate as he sprints along the corridor, looking for lifts or stairs or whatever they use to change levels. Most starships are designed with the central command systems placed either on the upper levels or in the most protected area of the ship, which usually means taking a ship from the top down.

He rounds a corner in a hurry, blaster at the ready if he finds any Sharkticons, and finds the lift instead. It turns out to be a cross between a standard lift and a tube of liquid. Astrotrain slams his hand against the wall, engine growling unhappily as he closes his vents and gets in. It's hot and full of organic things he doesn't want to identify, but it moves him quickly and doesn't have any enemies in it.

::Blitzwing,:: he comms. ::Report.::

::Alive, dented,:: Blitzwing sends back. ::Why were we afraid of these chumps?::

::Have you found their controls yet?::

::Nope,:: Blitzwing sends back. ::Race you to them?::

Astrotrain resists the urge to roll his optics, then sends back agreement, going silent as the tube dumps him out into a crowded corridor.

There's the soft whine of charging weapons, the clicking of teeth, soft snarls. Not every Sharkticon in here is in their root mode.

Astrotrain looks down the crowd, liquid pouring off of him and hot air blasting out of his vents - and he grins, showing his sharpened dentae to them all.

Some coward in the back of the crowd begins to shout out "Bah-weep - " but it's drowned out by the rest of their howls and blaster fire. Astrotrain answers with his own blaring howl, wings tucking back awkwardly as he fires and fires into the crowd, hissing as their fire occasionally finds gaps in his armor, damage reports pinging up in his vision.

Not that it helps tip the scales of this slaughter. This is what he was _built_ for, designed from the struts up to be able to take all the punishment a battlefield can give, and dish out just as much damage. He doesn't have to be a tank or cannon to feel the code-deep satisfaction that comes from destroying everything around him, and he advances further into the fray, vocalizer emitting a distinctive whistle, a call to Blitzwing if he's close enough.

It doesn't mean _Help me,_ no. It means _Come before we run out of targets._

//

"Aw, slag," Blitzwing says from a level below. He can hear Astrotrain, and he'd like to answer him, comm with with a 'wait for me!' but interrupting a mech in battle without a damn good reason isn't a good idea.

He drops the Sharkticon he'd been searching, steps over corpses marked with treads, scoops up an extra blaster he drops into his subspace as he pokes the panel next to the door - it's automatic, trying to close on what used to be a sharkticon commander. Well, maybe. He can't be sure of its rank, but given that it was bigger than the other ones he'd assumed it had been in charge before he'd shot it through.

"Upgrade your armor next time," he tells the corpse's dull optics, absently ripping the panel off of the wall and focusing on the wiring behind it. It's close enough to setups he's seen before that he knows to rip the wires here, shove them _here_ \- the door opens. A whole lot of doors open. "...And upgrade your ship's security so it's not on a single circuit," he adds with a low whistle.

::Asters?:: He comms, deciding it's quiet enough above to send his question. ::This is a little too easy.::

::Don't drop your guard,:: Astrotrain sends back.

::Astrotrain, I'm serious. We've gone through these mechs like they were nothing. Either we've gotten that much better since we first busted out, or something else is going on.::

::There are holes in my wings. I'm leaking energon from where they did find the gaps in my armor. They aren't completely useless.::

::So you're saying we've got a better chance getting into the lab than we thought?::

::Only if we can seize this ship...but yes. I do. We've had a couple century's worth of upgrades and practice against dangerous aliens. The Sharkticons haven't been in any wars lately, and neither have the Quintessons. No reason to upgrade their security.::

Complacency. Blitzwing rumbles to himself, decides he's satisfied, and starts looking for the nearest lift.

//

Energon leaks down Astrotrain's limbs, mingling with the lingering mess from the tubes, but there's no time to stop and patch it. He keeps moving, prying doors open and sticking his head instead each room as he goes, occasionally ducking blasts and killing any Sharkticon he meets.

Maybe he should have a twinge of conscience, some kind of remorse for living up to the worst declarations about Cybertronian war machines. It's one of those unbidden thoughts that he _knows_ Blitzwing wouldn't have, a consequence of spending too much time around aliens, trying to offload stolen goods and find work that would pay enough to keep his crew fueled.

To the mech who's stolen his ship and crew, he wishes her a curse and a lot of luck. She hadn't been involved with negotiations with aliens, arguments over whether a Cybertronian vessel had to follow intergalactic laws about trading licenses. If she wants any success, she'll learn what salvaging rights are, and how to respect them.

As for the here and now, spending too much time around aliens and hearing them mutter the worst things about his kind - he doesn't hesitate to gun down another Sharkticon when it leaps at him when he wrenches the door open. He does walk away thinking about what a desperate being does when they're about to die.

He winds his way down the corridor, cleaning it out methodically until the coloring on the walls changes, shifts from an ugly yellow-gray to a deeper naval blue. The doors here are harder to open, the sharkticons behind them better armed. Obviously he's changed levels of some kind, and he has to think - maybe he's been looking at this ship the wrong way. Maybe the Sharkticons treat the gravity in here as irrelevant.

Doesn't matter now - he opens one big set of double-doors and finds a huge room that can't be anything _but_ a command center. It's staffed by hulking Sharkticons who open fire, and he gets to work cleaning it out as if it were nothing more but another monster closet.

Complacency. That's how he'd explained it to Blitzwing. He turns, putting two shots into the Sharkticon reaching for a set of controls. He can believe it from the Sharkticons, the way they fight exactly the same way he remembers. They come in numbers, they're armed with sharp teeth and blasters, and that's it. Not much else in their bag of tricks. It's usually enough to drive away most enemies. Organics don't sport heavy armor, and most weapons can't rip through a Sharkticon that easily.

Honestly, they had been the last line of defense to breach when he and Blitzwing had busted out all those years ago, and they'd been the easiest. Fear and desperation had turned them into monsters in his memories, emotional tags crowding those files, but now he can discard those as irrelevant. These Sharkticons are nothing.

Quintessons, on the other hand…

Astrotrain moves around the circular room, checking under consoles and behind any structures, checking for survivors. He takes blasters as he goes, cluttering his subspace.

Quintessons are known the galaxy over for their propensity for horrible experiments. They're known for sadism, for bizarre displays of so-called justice, for taking anyone and anything they deem as interesting and for either murdering or twisting those creatures until they're unrecognizable. They're known for taking slaves, and for cheating on their deals. Quintessons, in short, have enemies everywhere they go.

Complacency in Sharkticons, sure. _Not_ in Quintessons.

He picks the centermost console, bends to study its controls and look for what might be standard-issue ports. He grins when he finds one of those jack-in ports, bracing himself as he opens up his wrist, uncoiling a long cable and plugging it in, optics dimming as he braces for any kind of security programs.

Astrotrain never received any training in this kind of warfare, nothing compared to the likes of specialists prepared on Cybertron. The advantages he brings to the field are innate, programs Quintesson-made that render him immune to most forms of tampering and leave him vulnerable to tampering from his now-former masters.

He's patched those as best he can, using hack-jobs he had to craft himself and share with Blitzwing.

Still, he's braced for sudden failure, some kind of killcode in the ship's systems that'll cut through his defenses and leave him paralyzed, waiting for a Quintesson scientist to claim him as property and take him apart - and the relief when there's nothing but standard security systems floods his field has him gasping quietly.

That had been the most vulnerable moment in this whole operation - and it's over. Mostly. He gets to work shredding security, wary of any lurking traps, and he gets himself control of the ship's nav comp as he runs a search, looking for any data connected to the Quintesson lab itself. A map, access codes, anything - there.

::Blitzwing,:: he comms. ::Tell me you didn't get stuck in the tubes.::

::You could have _warned_ me!:: Blitzwing sends back, and Astrotrain smirks, continuing his examination of the files he's found. Absolutely pathetic security when up against mechs who can plug in and read Quintessoni.

::I had to suffer through it,:: he sends back with no sympathy whatsoever. ::You'll live. Get in here. I've found the codes to send for an all-clear, routine refueling at the lab.::

::What's that word you used, complacency?::

::That's the one. I _don't_ think it'll be this easy when we get inside, but assuming these aren't fake we won't have to ram our way inside.::

Astrotrain turns his helm when he hears running pedes, and Blitzwing skids into the command center, freshly wet from the tube and otherwise unharmed.

"Alright, atmospheric controls," Blitzwing says. "Forget the docking procedures, I want some cool air in here now."

"No," Astrotrain says, gesturing him closer. "I need your help pulling out a recording of this bridge back when it was staffed by Sharkticons, so we can deliver those codes."

"...I thought this was going to be easy!"

"Not a chance," Astrotrain says. "I'd like to revise what I said, too. The Sharkticons haven't upgraded their weaponry, sure, but I don't think the Quintessons went a lot of centuries without coming up with ways to keep mechs like us from busting out again."

"...Yeah," Blitzwing says, sitting on a console with a weary look. "Damn. What are we going to do?"

"If we can't think of anything else before we get there, we keep it simple: bust in, use this ship as a ram if we have to, find their holding cells and labs and grab anyone alive, and bust out. Simple."

Blitzwing's visor glows as he finds a port in his console-slash-seat and plugs in, giving Astrotrain a hand wiggle.

"It'll work if we're fast and lucky," he says.

Astrotrain thinks it through, silent as he works the files. It's a stationary lab, so they can't use any of their standard tricks. No bait, no diversions, no tricks involving numbers. They don't have the technology for anything fancy. Without a map of the labs they can't strike at any underbellies, and they _have_ to hit the most protected place…

"Blitzwing," he says. "Would they put more guards on the experiments or their personal quarters?"

"A feint?" Blitzwing picks up immediately, grinning. "Quints die easy. I remember that."

He answers him with an equally vicious grin.

//

It doesn't take even a cycle before they're in range of the Quintesson lab: it pops on-screen, an ugly artificial shape. The place is a twisted corkscrew, a miniature verson of Quintessa itself, and they're lucky to have the maps, as it would be impossible to find the docks. The place lacks any of the usual visual cues, no open shipyards or tether lines. Instead, when they find it, the dock is hidden inside one fold of the structure. The only possible approach is from below, past a bank of mounted orbs - likely weapons of some kind.

Blitzwing watches out the monitors, occasionally calling back a warning as Astrotrain pilots the ship through the complicated procedure - it has to be flipped length-wise and guided into a waiting dock, all without betraying that they've never flown one of these ships before.

The Quintessons guarding the place haven't bothered with any personal calls, accepting their access codes without even a verbal communication - all they'd bothered to do was deploy beacons.

It's too easy, Blitzwing thinks again. He shifts nervously as the tethers and clamps seal onto their ship.

"There's probably a whole garrison waiting for us," he says, unable to help himself. "Are you sure we can't start by rigging this ship to blow and using that as the distraction?"

"Not when it could be our ride out," Astrotrain says sharply, unplugging from the systems and standing up. He's marked by crusting red spots, where the energon's begun to crystalize over his wounds. Blitzwing resists the urge to comment about his levels. If they're low, he'll deal with them. That's the way Astrotrain works.

"Do you need extra guns?" He asks, then shuts his mouth when Astrotrain gives him one of those _looks._

Right. Nerves. He's uncomfortable and terrified and ready to be on the other side of this expedition.

Astrotrain pulls his blaster out of his subspace, taking a few kliks to check it over as they wait for anything to happen - a contingent of guards, a call from a Quintesson, anything - and nothing does. He snaps the energy cell back into the gun and hefts it in his hands, then looks to Blitzwing.

"Alright," he says. "Let's go."

Blitzwing withdraws his own blaster and follows Astrotrain without a word. Whatever comes next, they have their plans. They have backup weapons from the Sharkticons.

::This is just a guess,:: Astrotrain says a few kliks later as they emerge from those horrid tubes. ::No one's tried to contact us because the Quintessons tried to automate their dealings with the Sharkticons. There's a good chance they won't realize anything's wrong here until the ship doesn't leave on time.::

Blitzwing answers him with a ping, acknowledgement and not much else.

//

His partner's retreated into the sullen silence that usually marks when a mission's gone poorly. Minor programs built years back to help him keep track of crew activate, suggesting he find a klik to talk to Blitzwing, sort out the black mood before it spreads.

He shuts them off. Different circumstances. They come down the dock itself, signal dampeners at full effect and blasters at the ready: there must be cameras lining the ceiling. The room itself is cavernous, the dock fully capable of housing giant warships. There's the minor relief of a familiar atmosphere; the Quintessons keep their docks only mildly humid and far cooler than the Sharkticons like it.

More proof the Quintessons could care less about their servants - most trade hubs run by aliens adjust the atmospheric condition on docks to match incoming ships, provided there's an incentive. He'd once paid to have a dock reset its atmosphere, get rid of the excess humidity from the last customer.

They leave the docks for the most prominent set of double-doors, and here comes the first question of their operation: try to hack it or just pry it open? Either could set off the alarms.

He glances back at Blitzwing, decides he's no help, and pries the door open. Justification's easy after the fact: plugging into these systems exposes their programming to total shut-down.

There's relief in Blitzwing's field as they commit themselves to these twisting corridors, leaving a cavernous dock for corridors so small Astrotrain only has a foot of clearance, lit with a bright ambient glow that casts these white corridors into a pale green. They twist as well, curving off into the distance and spiraling around - Quintesson designs feature spiraling mazes, or at least their labs do - Astrotrain's never visited Quintessa and found out if they live in dwellings this crazy.

They're running now, pounding down the length of these twisting corridors, gravity fluctuating around them as they move between the generators, the corridors branching off into other paths, the maze an incredible line of defense against intruders - or escapees.

The further in they get the more Astrotrain's tempted to revise their planned feint. _No one_ is here, not even stray guards. When they reach a branching hub that should have at least one alien or robot in it and find nothing instead - he signals a halt, backing them into their corridor.

::Something's wrong,:: he sends as quietly as he can.

::I knew it,:: Blitzwing sends back. ::What do we do?::

::Forget their berths. We're going straight for the cells.::

Blitzwing gives him a tight nod and moves out, taking point as they skirt around the hub - it's a huge vertical column of a room, corridors connected by bare platforms lacking rails. Astrotrain doesn't look down, and they begin to run again once they're down the right corridor.

Nightmare memory files reach up out of the depths of his processor to scare him, overlaying visions of these corridors twisting around them, gravity going nill and huge tentacles emerging to grab them - he resets his optics, focuses.

They won't be prisoners here, he swears to himself as they ascend a coiled staircase, emerging on a platform in another central column - he looks up, has to look away as it seems to stretch out into infinity.

The view in the walls around him isn't much better: the column is lined with cells and larger rooms, some hosting what appear to be gray frames and other living beings, aliens he doesn't know. He and Blitzwing shift to stand back to back, carefully scanning every room they can see for Cybertronian shapes.

He watches a five-limbed beast surge up and begin to pound against the barrier keeping it in its cell. Its orifice opens, probably calling for help in whatever language it speaks. Other aliens do the same, others lying still in their cells.

It's right out of his memories, the only difference being the selection of aliens - and the complete lack of Quintessons.

"Where the frag are they?" Blitzwing bursts out, the question echoing up and down the chamber. Astrotrain twitches but doesn't restrain him - he shares the sentiment. It's not _right_ that they haven't run into even light resistance by now.

::Gone,:: he says. ::Or busy. Shut up and focus on finding anyone or anything useful.::

There's utter silence for a handful of kliks, and then Blitzwing steps forward, pointing down.

::Down there,:: he says, remembering to use his comms this time. ::I'll have a look.:: He jumps off the edge of the platform, transforming in midair. Astrotrain watches him go, then hurriedly looks for a way to follow, going to the single slender column raised by the edge of the platform. He looks over the buttons and indents on the console - it must be a console - and vents, beginning to poke things at random.

Platforms unfurl from below, extending to various cells, barriers winking off.

::Frag!:: Blitzwing calls up. ::You could've waited on that! I nearly crashed!::

::Sorry,:: Astrotrain says, turning another dial, watching as the entire platform unfurls layer after layer of tentacled platforms. If he's accidentally enabling a jailbreak, he might as well go the whole way.

At last the one belonging to Blitzwing's target unfurls, and he makes a line straight for it, running down the steps and keeping his audials open as the room begins to echo with strange, alien shouts. They've got alien company in the air, but unless any of it shoots at him he intends to ignore it.

::Problem,:: Blitzwing sends as Astrotrain reaches the level he's on. ::Big problem.::

::What is it?:: Astrotrain asks, coming up to the cell, standing near Blitzwing and looking inside. The cell is cone-shaped, a round opening that tapers back into a point at the back, and there's a row of occupied bunk-berths lining both sides. A tube dangles from the ceiling, and further back in behind the bunks two mechs are bound into the walls, limbs submerged in the metal and tubes pushed into their orifices. The only sane thing about their state is that they're grayed-out, dead. ::Slag,:: is his only comment, optics coming back to the frames in the bunks.

Gray. That's at least eleven dead mechs.

"What'd you see?" Astrotrain asks quietly, several unpleasant implications coming to mind.

"I saw someone," Blitzwing says quietly. "Purple plating. I swear they looked at me."

"So where are they?" Astrotrain asks, stepping around Blitzwing to systematically check the bunks, wary of the dangling tube. He dips a hand into their subspaces, finding only the lingering glitchy sensation in his fingers that comes when you reach into a decaying subspace.

He looks up at the two mechs held in the walls, resolves to delete the memory of their faces later, and checks their subspaces too, coming out with nothing.

Abruptly there's a mechanical whir, and one of the frames drops out of the wall, released to fall to the floor with a clatter. Astrotrain jumps back, then back again, grabbing Blitzwing's shoulder as he backpedals out of the cell. He's just in time - the barrier flickers back into existence, and the platform's lifting them both up, up - there's a Quintesson at the central platform, scientist-type with the huge head, and a Judicator hovering behind it, the martial kind of Quintesson with a blaster wrapped in its tentacles.

Their luck's run out.

"Extempaxia, we _must_ leave," says the Judicator. Astrotrain fires up at it, crouching on the platform as it continues to rise up - behind him Blitzwing's transformed again and blasted off, turning as he flies, firing at the Quintessons as soon as they're in his sights.

"Why - oh," the Scientist immediately moves for the stairs. "How did these two arrive? We were careful to select only smaller models!"

The Judicator can't answer - a blast finds its target, and the Quintesson's blown off the platform in a spray of purple blood and gore.

Astrotrain makes the jump across to the platform, and slams into the Scientist, driving his fist into its face, crushing it easily in his hands.

"Wait - don't kill me - I surrender - " The pleas fade into desperate pained cries, and Astrotrain finally stops, keeping a tight grip on his new prisoner.

It won't work as a hostage. Not if there are other Quintessons here who can countermand its orders to its guard. But it has other uses.

"Order your security to stand down," he hisses. "Warn your friends that we'll kill them if we see them."

"I can't, I can't do that, I don't have - "

"You have comms. Use them."

"You shattered them!"

Astrotrain bares his dentae at the little monster. "Alright then. How many Cybertronians are in this facility?"

"Fifteen," it says. "Only fifteen. They're all small, not like you. Useless to you!"

"Doesn't matter," Astrotrain says. "Eleven are dead. Where are the others?"

"Eleven? That's wrong. That's very - urk - "

Astrotrain pulls a shard of its face away from it and considers the way the light reflects off of it. "Answer the question," he says, dropping the shard.

"The others are in the lab and there's one missing if there were only eleven in that cell. Which shouldn't be possible! We made sure that entire batch would run out of rations - "

Astrotrain cuts it off with another punch, unable to let it keep talking. He should let it ramble, just for the chance of information, but - he takes a deep in-vent, lets it go.

 _"Why_ did you murder them?" He asks. Blitzwing's circling the room, watching his back.

"Defects," says the monster, voice wobbly with fear. "Debilitating glitches in the processors and even in the spark. Not in line with the experiments. Unstable. The ones in the lab are from another batch, much more stable - "

"What were you trying to do to them?" Astrotrain demands.

"Don't kill me! They aren't your frametype, you shouldn't care about them - "

 _"Answer my question!"_ Astrotrain roars, voice going shrill. The Quintesson stares, then resumes talking.

"We were trying to create a new breed of hunters, more efficient and deadly than any of our servants, using transwarp technology. Transwarp technology, not something I can explain in layman's terms, very unstable, I thought I could stabilize it or at least learn something new about it by implanting generators into Cybertronian designs, already well-suited to handling new technology. I believe you would be an example of that am I correct in identifying your design - "

Another punch, another splintering of shards. Astrotrain growls.

The Quintesson begs for mercy, then finally - with another growl and threatened punch - continues.

"To put it very very simply, implanting the generators carelessly causes complete destabilization and we've lost test subjects already. They simply vanished or worse opened holes in reality that we then had to stabilize. We lost entire batches this way and were forced to rebuild huge sections of this facility. The batch in the labs now are our most successful and they're very obedient, able to shift which plane of reality they're on at will and in fact they're now prototypes for a sleeker, better design that isn't so reliant on energon - "

Blitzwing lands, transforming.

"What about the ones down there?" He demands.

"Those simply showed signs of complete failure. The two in restraints lost control of their limbs frequently. The rest were irregular...unreliable. Nothing so catastrophic as to cause the destruction of the lab, ha ha, but there's no way to remove the generators and start again with those designs, and - " It devolves into technical matters, a running stream of words Astrotrain records without listening to, letting it talk while he thinks.

When he reaches a decision he shakes the Quintesson until it stops talking and straightens, tucking it under an arm and holding a blaster to its face.

He shifts languages to Vosian. The language files he has from Cybertronian are extensive, bought in a bulk purchase, and it's the first time he's been able to justify opening up and using the Vosian one.

"Get your aft over here," he orders at high volume, relying on a hunch. The dead mechs below had been flight-frames, and flight-frames were most common in Vos, and while it was a given they'd all speak Quintessoni, there was a chance they'd keep those language files, even if they weren't created on Cybertron.

A slim chance.

A chance that slims to nothing as a klik wears on with nothing. Astrotrain repeats the order, giving his hunch an extra handful of kliks to let a wary mech make a few decisions.

The background noise has died down to almost nothing with the sealing of those cells, and any aliens who managed to get out have made it to the stairs by now. The order echoes, and Astrotrain keeps his optics open, performing a little countdown in his helm.

A mech with purple plating pops into existence across the platform, hands held up in a wary pose.

Astrotrain restraints the relieved vent, taking in the mech's appearance - red optics, black, purple and white plating, a lightweight flight frame with large wings like his - shaped differently, but big targets he'll have to keep track of. No insignia or personal markings anywhere, and as for the face it looks young.

"Name?" Astrotrain asks, still in Vosian.

The mech's optics slowly widen, and looks at Blitzwing, then back at Astrotrain, but it doesn't answer.

He tries another tack. "We're here to destroy this lab and rescue the rest of you. Do you want to come with us?"

There's a chance it can't speak, if it's as unstable as the Quintesson indicated. It keeps looking between them, then slowly it lowers its arms.

"Yes," it says with a surprisingly young voice, answering in Vosian. _"Yes!"_

At that Astrotrain grins.

"Alright," he says, tone friendly. "My designation - _name_ \- is Astrotrain. That's Blitzwing." He gestures to Blitzwing, who gives a little wave.

The mech points to itself, still looking at them with wide optics, speaking in Quintessoni now. "Realitywarp. Unit six. Personal names aren't permitted for experimental units."

"That's a load of slag," Blitzwing bursts out, speaking Vosian. "Everyone deserves a name!"

"Right," Astrotrain says just as vehemently. "Even if it's just for convenience. Will you let us name you, or do you have something in mind?"

::What the slag are we going to name him?:: Blitzwing comms urgently, as the mech looks down and seems to think it over. ::I'm not good at names!::

::If he can't think of anything we base it off of his project name,:: Astrotrain says. ::Same way we did for me.::

::Every time he hears it, he'll be reminded of that cell,:: Blitzwing objects, the same way he had when Astrotrain had taken his name.

"I can't think of anything," says the mech, still speaking in Quintessoni. It sound plaintive, and he ducks his head. "Please name me?"

"Okay," Astrotrain says. "If it doesn't sound right we'll think up something else."

He's got two sets of optics on him, and he does a quick conversion. Realitywarp in Quintesson, shift that over into Vosian and - figures, for a language built by fliers - Skywarp. Warp sticks out as a foreign word, but there's nothing that catches the same nuance. Skytwist? Not the right name at all.

"Skywarp," he says. "How's that for a name?"

The mech's wings flutter - in nerves or excitement he can't tell - and he nods, grinning.

"Skywarp," he repeats, then says it again. If he picks up its origins he doesn't let on, and he bounds up to Astrotrain, touching his arm, then skipping over to Blitzwing and doing the same. "My name is Skywarp."

"I heard," Blitzwing says, appropriately amused. He pats Skywarp's hand awkwardly. "Listen, can we get moving?"

"Do you know the way to the labs?"

"I can take you there myself!" Skywarp says, and he touches the both of them. There's a sudden blank spot in reality, the air twisting around them, and then they're gone.

::What the frag!:: Blitzwing bursts out seconds later as they reappear elsewhere in the Quintesson labs, in a room that's large and mostly empty - except for the plethora of Quintesson Scientists and Judicators in the room with them.

They've found where all the Quintessons have gone, along with their guards.

Skywarp gives them a triumphant look, and that's all the time Astrotrain has for observations.

"Get down," he orders, and opens fire on the Quintessons, starting with a blast through his now-useless hostage's face. Next to him Blitzwing's transforming into his tank altmode, opening fire with his cannon.

Skywarp drops to the floor as Astrotrain moves to stand over him, grunting as the Quintesson blasts meet his plating and actually begin to melt it before the blast's absorbed and dissipated. Too many blows and he'll be walking wounded, too damaged to get out of here - but he won't run.

"Can you do that again?" He shouts over the din, wishing Skywarp had at least waited to let them trade comm frequencies. Blitzwing's blown a hole in the wall, and he's circling around to help clear the rest of the room, shouting war-cries as he goes. This is vindication, revenge against a pack of monsters, and Astrotrain aches to leap into the fray and lose himself in the bloodlust, but he's got a vulnerable, valuable mech to protect.

"Once!" Skywarp shouts back. "Sorry!"

"What range!" Astrotrain asks, blowing a Scientist against the wall, splattering it with purple blood. A door at the far end of the room's opened up to admit in a platoon of guards. Blitzwing angles himself to blow a hole in their main force, and the rest scatter, shouting orders to each other, struggling to be heard over the ongoing shrieks from the Scientists.

"I don't know!" Skywarp answers, then yells louder - "Look down!"

Astrotrain risks a glance down, then another, staring before a jolt of pain through his wing forces his attention back on the battle.

Below them is a massive work of Quintesson science. At first glance he hadn't been able to comprehend what he'd been looking at - a cityscape? A mess of bright lights and exposed machinery? As if someone had opened up his own circuitry and enlarged it. The second glance had let him pick out familiar shapes: Cybertronian frames. The missing mechs they came here to rescue.

::Blitzwing, blow a hole in the floor,:: Astrotrain orders immediately.

Blitzwing doesn't ask about the crazy order, instead shifting into his other altmode and taking off, transforming in midair so he can aim down - and with one massive hole in the floor the rest of it collapses down in a spray of rubble and Quintessons. Astrotrain scoops Skywarp up into his arms, bracing himself for their landing.

It doesn't come nearly so quickly. Astrotrain has time to watch the expanse of machinery get bigger and bigger, and Skywarp clings to his plating, whimpering with sudden fright.

The air around them _thrums,_ gravity itself suddenly inverting, a force trying to push them away - 

::Blitzwing!:: Astrotrain comms, beginning to realize what kind of problem they have. ::Blitzwing, get over here, it's going to blow!::

It might blow, it might not. He has no idea. Whatever it is, it's unstable and reality's acting weird around it, and the spiel he'd gotten from the scientist earlier is beginning to resurface, phrases like 'desyncing the interface between realities' and 'obedient hunters who live on both sides' beginning to sound more and more frightening.

Blitzwing reverts back into a jet, blasting in to get up next to them.

"Skywarp!" Astrotrain shouts, grabbing Blitzwing by the nose. "Get us out of here!"

The mechs below have their optics open, and one of them raises an arm. The whole machine pulses, and then half of it disappears, replaced by nothing. Astrotrain's optics begin to glitch, showing the missing area as visual static. The machine _pulses_ again, and he thinks he can hear screaming - 

Reality twists around them, and he doesn't know who's causing it - but they're gone.

//

Reality lets them back in out in open space, far enough away from the lab that Blitzwing can watch it vanish in slices, sections of the structure vanishing and turning glitchy.

::I'm going to be sick,:: he tells Astrotrain, transforming back into his rootmode so he can grab his arm, and Skywarp's - the kid's still online, Astrotrain's online - they're all staring at the lab as pieces of it reappear, jamming into the rest of the lab - one ship leaves the dock, the Sharkticon ship they rode in on.

Probably escaping aliens, Blitzwing thinks, before realizing - 

::Hey! Our escape vessel!::

::Don't need it,:: Astrotrain says, tone dazed. The lab folds in on itself and finally vanishes entirely, space rippling around its location before settling. ::Important...note,:: Astrotrain says. ::Transwarp technology. Big red flag, get the frag away from anyone who wants to play with it.::

::Yeah,:: Blitzwing agrees.

For a few kliks they hang there in space, watching the Sharkticon vessel move away from the empty space - and then it turns towards them, the ungainly ship closing the distance between them.

A hail arrives across general frequencies.

::Well-meaning idiots,:: Astrotrain comments, tone finally back to normal. He raises an arm, comming back on the same frequencies. He says the same thing in multiple languages, risking Quintesson in that medley - ::We're alive!::

The aliens answer in a language Blitzwing has labeled in his processors as 'Common - Galactic Council'.

::Our rescuers! May we return the favor?::

::Yes,:: Astrotrain answers. ::We could use a ride to the nearest civilized spot.::

There's some kind of welcome in their response, and while Blitzwing's listening he's paying attention to Skywarp, who's pressed close to Astrotrain and closed his optics. His wings are drooping, and if Blitzwing knows a field, Skywarp feels exhausted.

::Asters, we've got to get him some fuel and a berth,:: Blitzwing says once Astrotrain's done getting them back into the Sharkticon ship.

::The shuttle should have extra rations,:: Astrotrain says, looking down at the kid. ::I have to sacrifice yours - I'm running low and he's more than earned them.::

::Take them,:: Blitzwing says. Of the three of them he's in the best condition, lacking the mess of wounds Astrotrain has. ::Think we can use whatever the Sharkticons used as fuel?::

::... No telling,:: Astrotrain says with a grimace, and they draw closer to each other as the ship pulls up alongside them, opening up an airlock. ::Be ready for hostilities,:: Astrotrain says. ::There's a chance they'll try to shut us down.::

Blitzwing nods - he doesn't _think_ these aliens will be stupid enough to try and kill the mechs who rescued them and slaughtered the Sharkticons in that ship, but one never knows with aliens.

They maneuver into the airlock, slipping past the atmospheric barrier one by one, steadying themselves in gravity and a humid environment again.

"Did they say if anyone would be down to welcome us in?" Blitzwing asks, and Astrotrain only shrugs in response. That's not a normal sign - usually Blitzwing can rely on Astrotrain to catch details like that. He frowns, stepping closer still to Astrotrain, running a scan on him, ignoring Astrotrain's stare. _"Slag!_ When did you get hit?"

Astrotrain reaches out, whacking the side of his helm, field abruptly upset.

::What?:: He asks, taking the hint, tone more confused than hurt.

::Not in front of Skywarp, and _not_ in front of these aliens. I've been leaking energon since the Sharkticons, and the Quintesson weapons did more than that, but I'll live long enough to get to the repair kit in that shuttle. Worst case scenario I can still transform and get us to somewhere civilized on my own. _Don't_ admit that outloud. _Don't_ mention that we rode this ship in if these aliens haven't figured it out by now. Got that?::

Blitzwing nods, speechless.

::As for what we're doing - we're playing nice while we get the supplies we need from our shuttle. Resorting to the stock in our subspace is the absolute last option. If we can, we hitch a ride to the nearest trade hub. After that we do whatever we need to get a small, fast ship that could catch up with _our_ ship.::

::... You serious?:: Blitzwing says, stunned. He'd written their crew off as lost by now.

::I want them to see Skywarp,:: Astrotrain sends back fiercely. ::I want them to _know_ that their mutiny cost us Cybertronian lives.::

The other side of the airlock opens, and twitchy nerves have Blitzwing out in front of Astrotrain, blaster drawn before it can finish its cycle. The alien on the other side pulls itself in tight, becoming a very small target.

"Barrels down," Astrotrain orders, using a phrase common when they're on space stations, and on reflex Blitzwing drops the blaster. "Sorry. We won't shoot."

"That's understood," says the alien. Blitzwing keeps staring at it, unable to figure out how it _works._ The thing looks like a collection of shiny crystals suspended in mid-air. Occasionally one or two of them spin in place, distracting his targeting systems, and when he'd pulled the blaster on it they'd bunched up into a single small unit, hiding behind itself.

There's silence between the lot of them, and Blitzwing gives Astrotrain a nervous glance. He doesn't know what to say here, and as far as he can tell there's no good way to ask for their shuttle without admitting it's theirs.

"Injuries," says the alien, a sudden exclamation that has Blitzwing twitching. "Medical facilities limited-in-use, this way."

Blitzwing looks to Astrotrain, who nods and gestures for him to take point as they follow the floating crystal out of the airlock and down the corridor. This part of the ship's empty as far as they can see, and something begins to itch at the back of Blitzwing's processors.

::Astrotrain,:: he sends. ::We didn't kill everyone on this ship, did we? Just most of the crew.::

::There's a chance they're going to take us to a brig,:: Astrotrain says, tone weary.

::Right, look before we go in any doors,:: Blitzwing answers, raising a hand to rub his face. Now that he's thinking of it, he can just imagine some escaped gaggle of aliens crowding into that ruined bridge and scaring the life out of already-traumatized Sharkticons - and then they'd want to pick them up!

It could be funny, if Astrotrain weren't so slagged up. Maybe he'll laugh about it someday when they're all alive and on their own ship.

The crystal brings them to a set of double-doors in a blue corridor, the same color as up at the bridge, and Blitzwing keeps a tight grip on his blaster as the doors slide open. Inside - it's a medical bay. The same thing he's seen in ships and labs and space stations all over the galaxy. Rows of berths and complicated looking medical equipment. This one's occupied already by a medley of Sharkticons.

There's a long, awkward silence. Awkward on their end, anyways. Blitzwing figures it's terror for the Sharkticons.

"Hey, uh," he starts. "How about you close the doors and we go on our way?"

"Are these the murderers," says the crystal.

A roomful of mute nods. At least one of the Sharkticons is twitching in its berth.

Astrotrain gives a weary vent and begins to walk off down the corridor, and Blitzwing quickly catches up with him.

::No damned reason for that,:: Astrotrain mutters over the comms. ::Keep it quiet. Skywarp's fallen into recharge and I don't want to wake him up.::

::Got it,:: Blitzwing says, glancing back at the spinning crystal as it flits down the hallway after them.

"Apologies," it says, probably a damned lie, "Had to be sure. Sharkticon ships, not equipped for surveillance."

"What exactly are you trying to say?" Astrotrain asks as the crystal soars up and around in front of them. "Is this a prelude to an arrest?"

The crystal vibrates, pieces of itself rotating very quickly.

"Yes. Yes-in-accordance-with-the-Vx-Accords-I-am-authorized - "

"No," Astrotrain says. "No, you're not."

"Excuse?"

"My friend here turns into a tank," Astrotrain says. "That cannon on his back isn't for show. It can put a massive hole into this Sharkticon ship. It already put a hole into that Quintesson lab. The one we freed you from."

"Personal-gratitude irrelevant to facts of murder case - "

"I don't know which corner of the galaxy you're from, but Sharkticons don't stand in any courts of law but Quintesson ones!"

The crystals rotate, vibrating all the while, producing an ongoing chime - that abruptly halts, and Blitzwing turns as his sensors detect more aliens behind them.

Only two, but this time it's a pair of organics, Blitzwing's least favorite kind of alien. One's bright red and covered in a shiny bisected plating, but it's also got far too many limbs for its frametype and a pair of optics on stalks - like a mutated Insecticon, which is just wrong. The other almost looks normal with its boxy shape and upright stature - but it's covered in thick banded green-brown fur, which must be hell on its cooling systems.

"Our honored rescuers," says the furry one, stepping forward and spreading its arms open. It might be a gesture intended to indicate peaceful intent, but to Blitzwing's optic it sure looks hostile - in any Cybertronian that'd open up chest-compartments for explosives, or shoulder-mounted weapons.

"Jx, please tell me you aren't arresting these three," says the multi-limbed alien. It skitters up past them and to the crystal, flicking one rotating crystal. "They saved our lives."

"As I already explained personal-gratitude-irrelevant - "

"An ongoing argument," says the furry one over the noise of the other two. "We humbly apologize for Jx's behavior."

"I don't really care," Astrotrain says. "Are you in charge around here?"

"Yes."

"Shut those two up," Astrotrain says first. He moves to stand by the wall, and Blitzwing joins him, angling to see both ways up the corridor, waiting out the little argument between the aliens.

It takes a handful of kliks, but silence falls on the corridor, and three aliens turn their attentions on Astrotrain. If they're nervous it's hard to tell - Blitzwing's never had a knack for reading organic twitches. The crystal's rotating again, whatever that means, and the multi-limbed one has stopped moving - two vastly different tells.

"We should start with a civilized exchange of names," says the furry one with a deep bow, a gesture the other two copy. "Thale, Former Warden of the Emerald Dwelling and tentative peacekeeper of our little band of escapees."

"Jekka," says the multi-limbed creature. "No fancy titles."

"I offer no apologies for acting in accordance with the law," says the crystal. "But for the sake of mutual cooperation I will abandon this investigation for the time being. My name is Jx, and I am a licensed officer, charged to uphold the Accords of Vx."

The three of them look at them expectantly, and Astrotrain looks to the ceiling for a moment, a sentiment Blitzwing understands. They aren't here to make friends - they just want their shuttle and a ride.

"Astrotrain," he says finally. "This is Blitzwing. We're exhausted, and want passage to the belly of this ship so we can catch a little shut-optic. Does that seem fair?"

"Perfectly," says Thale. "We will act as your escort." She turns on the spot, waving for them to follow as she begins to walk down the corridor at a brisk space. Astrotrain follows, then Blitzwing - he shoots a wary look at the other two aliens, who stay behind, then moves up to take point again.

"We believe it's safe to assume that the giant shuttle is yours?" Thale asks.

"It's what we rode in on," Astrotrain says. "Are you going to make life difficult for us like your friend back there?"

"Assuredly not," says Thale. She stops to look back at them. "We have a very great respect for your weapons and willingness to use them. You will be left completely alone if you stay in your shuttle for the duration of the trip, and agree to leave immediately when we reach the nearest space station. Jx won't be happy, but between us he will be happiest if he is left alive."

"Sounds reasonable."

Thale bows to them and resumes the walk in silence.

The corridor ends in the scene of a massacre: dead Sharkticons against the walls and floor. No one's been through to clean it up. Blitzwing picks out the individual shots automatically, more than able to recreate the fight, and he sends Astrotrain a ping.

::That's good work,:: he sends. Astrotrain shrugs back at him, field subtly pleased.

Thale, meanwhile, hasn't moved. There's the soft sound of organic fans speeding up, never a good sign. She turns slowly, hands curled into tight fists.

"We have no intention of abrogating our agreements, but we feel compelled to ask," Thale begins, her beady little optics darting between the two of them. "Was the scale of this destruction necessary?"

"Yes," Astrotrain says, and Blitzwing nods.

"They would've killed us if they had the chance," Blitzwing adds.

"Or worse, captured us," Astrotrain finishes. "Let us through."

Thale's tone is openly wondering: "You two have no remorse for your actions? None at all?"

Astrotrain lets out a longer vent - if not for Skywarp's dozing frame in his arms it would have been a noisy blast of air - and shakes his head.

"We're alive and free. These Sharkticons wanted to change that, with no room for compromises. _Let us through."_

"It sounds so simple," Thale says, but she finally begins to walk through the carnage, stepping over frames carefully. Her fur's fluffed up, but she's quieter, fans gone back to normal.

"That's because it is," Blitzwing says, following.

"Death is never simple, nor so easily rationalized," she answers, and Blitzwing lets out his own annoyed vent. One of _these_ types, who hasn't been in any kind of real fight.

"Death is senseless," Astrotrain says. "Happens to the best and worse of us for no real reason. These Sharkticons were onboard the one patrol ship that targeted our shuttle as an easy catch. If you want to blame anyone, blame their commanders for trying to contain us."

"Was that why you murdered them in their beds?"

"I was looking for the bridge," Astrotrain says. It sounds like an excuse, so Blitzwing jumps in - 

"He was being thorough. You never know when one of these ships will have a secondary bridge or some kind of self-destruct mechanism. If we weren't in a rush we would've done the job properly."

Thale stops again, on the threshold between the corridor and the bay proper. Her fans are up again, creating that harsh panting sound.

"You've done this before," she starts.

"Uh," Blitzwing says. Astrotrain's palm meets his helm. "I thought it was obvious?"

"No. Yes." Thale's fur impossibly puffs out further, touching the edges of the doorway. She turns, mouth open to reveal dark blue glossae. It curls out of her mouth, heaving with the force of her pants. It's some kind of emotional display, probably upset, and Blitzwing's hand moves from its almost-casual grip on his blaster to a tight, ready grip. She could be dead in seconds, if she's vulnerable to blaster fire. "It was apparent to us from the start that you two are Quintesson war machines. Rebellious yes, but that changes nothing about your destructive potential. We had hoped you had only demonstrated it against the Quintessons and their allies. We had _hoped_ you would be civilized. Now we are informed otherwise. Now we are convinced that bringing you away means more senseless deaths."

"You're dead if you try anything," Astrotrain says to that open, potentially angry threat. Blitzwing slowly brings his blaster up, demonstrating it to the alien.

"So we are," says the alien. "So we are bound to our rescuers, through the most grievous affront."

"Then move."

"We have one further question. The young one."

 _"Move,"_ Astrotrain says, his voice going low and sheer at the same time; it makes Blitzwing wince.

The alien moves. Blitzwing moves, keeping his blaster trained on it while he moves through the opening and to the wall, covering Astrotrain's advance.

The shuttle has barely shifted position, and the ramp is still lodged haphazardly on a pile of junk. Astrotrain climbs it, and Blitzwing, and he closes the door. The last glimpse of the alien he gets is of those beady eyes locked on his, that fur stiff with some emotion he can't identify.

//

Astrotrain gently places Skywarp into the berth, field oh-so-carefully modulated as he angles those sensitive wings to hang out over the floor instead of against the wall, then backs away as Skywarp curls up in his recharge, whimpering quietly.

He waits, vents stilled, for Skywarp to settle, then moves up in the narrow amount of space to the cockpit. Blitzwing's still going over the controls, field disturbed when he teeqs it. That's something to address, but he has something more urgent to find: the repair kit. It's in one of the side panels, and he finally draws it out with a small clatter. There are leaks that need tending, slagged armor plates that need lifting to check the delicate circuitry beneath, and countless minor repairs that he needs to check before he can trust his self-repair systems to handle the bulk of it.

All that, and a fuel warning that's become insistent since they reappeared outside the lab.

::Blitzwing, this'll go faster if you help,:: he says, keeping to comms to hopefully spare Skywarp the noise.

Blitzwing instantly leaves the shuttle's controls, kneeling by him as they pull large cloths from the repair kit, carefully wiping away energon and organic fluids from his limbs. If they were on their own ship, this would be done in wash-racks, a hot stinging wash of solvent to carry away the still-itching fluids from the Sharkticon's idea of a lift, and then enough room and reflective surfaces to make this easy.

They make do. He flares his plating at the appropriate joints, risks removing whole sections of his armor so Blitzwing can reach into delicate sections of tubing and cables and extract shrapnel and other detritus. Patches are applied where they can fit them, welds risked for heavier wounds.

It takes cycles to take care of everything. His fuel warning gets louder, and his control over his field looser - Blitzwing shares the pain and exhaustion and now-active fright.

In a sense he's lucky he's injured. Repairs are focus-intensive and ideal for keeping his mind busy while his processors churn away, coping with the influx of information and emotional tags. He shares fear and triumph with Blitzwing, but they're so focused on the repairs it can't overwhelm them.

At one point Blitzwing puts down the rag and dims his optics.

::Too much?::

::Kid saved our hides,:: Blitzwing says. ::We owe him.::

::He's coming with us,:: Astrotrain says. ::All the way to the ship. We'll teach him how to live out here, and he'll have all the freedom he wants.::

::That's a lot of training,:: Blitzwing says, humor and relief in his voice.

::We owe him,:: Astrotrain answers, and he matter-of-factly lifts charred plating off of his forearm. ::I need two hands for this.::

Blitzwing gets back to work with a little shaky smile, and they stay that way until Astrotrain can take a cube of energon from their supplies and drain it without risking losing it through leaks.

He sets it down with a relieved vent, watching the fuel warning vanish.

::If we need to leave, I'm ready for it,:: he reports, and Blitzwing nods. ::Okay, let's switch places. I know you got hit at least once.::

::Just in the treads,:: Blitzwing says, and they trade places, getting to work on more repairs. It doesn't take nearly as long before they're putting the kit away, counting the patches left - they'll need to pick up scrap to convert into easily applied patches if they can't get back to their ship soon.

Astrotrain shunts that thought aside as useless - they have more immediate concerns. The shuttle, the aliens - 

There's a clang from down the aisle, and a soft yelp. Astrotrain's the first one to his pedes and out of the cockpit - and he finds Skywarp half off the berth, limbs askew and his helm against the floor.

"Ow," he says, blinking up Astrotrain.

Astrotrain shifts his blaster back into his subspace, offering a hand to Skywarp. The kid looks confused, obviously unable to place his surroundings.

"You're safe," Astrotrain says in the language he uses with Blitzwing: Tarnic. It's one of the common languages from Cybertron, the language of the soldiers. It's full of imperatives and absolutes, as straightforward as Blitzwing prefers to be. If Skywarp doesn't know it yet - it's an easy file to share.

Skywarp stares up at him, utterly uncomprehending - but he takes his hand, pulling himself upright.

"Where are we?" He asks in Quintessoni.

"Safe," Astrotrain says, temporarily using Quintessoni to answer him. "Open a port for me, I want to send you two language files."

He's met with mute obedience, one arm held out to him, a panel retracted to reveal medical ports. An attitude they'll have to train out of him, but until it's gone Astrotrain intends to use it. He plugs in, requesting a systems scan as he transfers two languages - Galactic Common and Tarnic. The files are automatically integrated into systems - and on second thought Astrotrain sends his files on Vosian as well, just to be certain Skywarp's walking around with complete dictionaries.

The Quintessons had done that to him, back when he was fresh from their labs. They'd butchered his dictionaries, left him with a dialect so limited he was perceived as either simple or a servant. Even the dialect of Quintessoni he speaks indicates that he's lesser than any true Quintesson.

Anger flickers through his field at the memory, an emotion that has Skywarp flinching back from him.

"It's okay," he reassures him. He's gratified by the way Skywarp calms, then looks startled. "Language files. I'm speaking Tarnic. It's from Cybertron. Ever been there before?"

Skywarp shakes his head quickly, systems finally returning the scan. With it Astrotrain unplugs from his port, coiling his cable away.

"That's our home planet," he says. "Someday we'll take you there."

"I want to see Vos," Skywarp says, still speaking Quintessoni - but it's an honest demand. "Some of the older ones told us stories about it. They - " He stops, grief threading through his field. It's muted by shock, and Astrotrain reaches out slowly, taking his hands.

"I've never been to Vos, but I know where it is," he says. "We can go there. Just promise me one thing."

"What?"

"Switch languages. We don't like hearing _their_ language, and you've got options now. I filled out your Vosian and gave you our preferences - most of the aliens you'll meet speak Galactic Common. Blitzwing and I like Tarnic because it sounds like home."

"Oh," Skywarp says. He holds still for a few kliks, probably examining those files. Astrotrain takes the opportunity to study the system scan he received. He's used to Blitzwing's frame, but Skywarp's a different model, far lighter and delicate: seeker-class. The most common flight-frame on Cybertron, if he remembers the statistics right - so common they bunch up in trios and flock together.

Anyways, he's undamaged. His systems show only minor strain, and that's an interesting facet of the scan, the details about Skywarp's transwarp generator, but it's something to study later. Right now Skywarp seems stable enough despite that Scientist's declarations that the entire batch had been unstable.

"Is this right?" Skywarp asks in Tarnic.

"Perfect," Astrotrain reassures him. "Have a seat on the berth and we'll answer your questions now."

Skywarp sits. Astrotrain sits on the bunk opposite his, and Blitzwing comes out to join them, leaning against the wall. The questions don't have to be coaxed out:

"Who are you two?"

"Astrotrain. He's Blitzwing. We're Cybertronians like yourself - but you knew that already. We both escaped from a Quintesson lab some centuries back. _Most_ Cybertronians only have one altmode, but the Quints gave us two. As for our function - " He waves to Blitzwing.

Blitzwing takes over. "I'm a soldier," he says. "Warbuild. He's a warbuild too, but he's transport. We've learned to do more than what we were built for, and you'll have to do the same thing."

"No one lives off of Cybertron without learning how to talk to aliens, for example," Astrotrain says. "As long as you're with us, we'll teach you those skills."

Skywarp takes this all in with wide optics, and he shuffles in his seat. "Why don't you live on Cybertron?"

"Personal choice," Astrotrain says. "We're not fans of Cybertron's currents leaders, and we like our freedom. Going home would get us separated, too."

"Why?" The eternal question of sparklings. Astrotrain sets aside the sick feeling that comes with the thought of Quintessons raising sparklings and answers the question.

"On Cybertron, mechs get split up according to their function. This won't matter for most mechs - they'll mingle off-shift, keep in touch via the datanet - but I'm transport, built for hauling goods between planets and starships. I'd always be in motion, and he'd be stationed somewhere else. So we make our own way in space."

"Oh." Skywarp looks between them, shuffling in his seat. "What do you do in space?"

"Meet aliens, kill them, and take their things," Blitzwing says with a grin. 'We're _pirates."_

"Void, take me now," Astrotrain mutters. "We're not pirates."

"We don't tell the aliens that, sure, but we _are_ pirates."

"Some of the time. Skywarp. We're officially freelancer pilots. We do salvage work, we haul cargo, we take bounties and in general do anything that turns a profit while following the rules the Galactic Council's laid down. And yes, sometimes we _do_ engage in pirating and smuggling, but we never tell the aliens that. Otherwise they'd arrest us or worse, take our licenses."

"Which means we couldn't go to any of the space stations without getting shot at," Blitzwing says in a conspiratorial whisper. "Let Astrotrain do the talking when it comes to aliens, okay? He's good at convincing them we're not breaking any laws."

"Okay," Skywarp says, leaning forward with a sparkle in his optic. "Do you fight like that all the time?"

"Frag yes," Blitzwing says. "Do you want to learn how to do that?"

"Yes!" Skywarp raises his hands, nearly jumping out of the berth. Bloodthirsty little runt, Astrotrain thinks fondly.

"Do you have access to your subspace?" Astrotrain asks, and gets a blank stare in return. "Alright, c'mere."

Skywarp springs out of his seat, coming up to Astrotrain and nearly vibrating with excitement as he finds the access points for the kid's subspace - on the underside of his forearms, and along the hips. He dips his fingers in, giving them a cursory search before he pulls out.

"That's your subspace," he says. "Your own personal storage compartment. In your case I don't know how it interacts whenever you teleport, but let's assume it works for now."

"Okay," Skywarp says, carefully dipping his own fingers into the access points.

Astrotrain reaches into his own, withdrawing one of the Sharkticons' blasters. He gives it a cursory check - nearly full charge on its cells, working trigger and safeties, nothing clogging the barrel - and holds it out to Skywarp.

"This is yours," he says. "At least until we find you something better."

It's too big for the kid - he has to hold it in both hands, and Blitzwing jumps in, showing him how to brace it against one arm and aim, explaining how the safety works.

"We'll give you proper lessons later," he promises. "This is what you use if we land in another fight. Stick it in your subspace for now."

Skywarp carefully points it at the ceiling and floor, expression delighted, and they wait patiently as he figures out how to slide it into his subspace. He gives them a triumphant grin that quickly turns stunned, shock rolling back out through his field.

"I've never owned anything before," Skywarp says quietly.

"Yeah, you have," Blitzwing says. "You own yourself. Your mind, your spark - whatever the Quints did to you, you're still yourself. And now you're armed, so you can shoot them if they try to hurt you again."

That - provokes Skywarp into clicking, desperate little hiccups from his vocalizer as he tries to keep himself until control, and that prompts Astrotrain to pull him into a tight hug, enveloping him in his field, projecting calm.

Blitzwing lays a hand on Skywarp's shoulder as he shakes and clicks, grief finally winning out - 

"They're all dead," Skywarp forces out, voice staticy and glitching. "They - they - they gave me their rations. I was - they thought I could escape. They _told_ me to run - but I couldn't - "

"You're alive," Astrotrain says roughly, processors helpfully throwing up an image of those gray frames. "Listen, Skywarp - " He carefully pushes him back enough to look him in the optics. "Every mech has a spark. It's that spinning, glowing thing in your chest, and it's got your whole essence in there." He pokes Skywarp's canopy, getting confusion in return - but the kid's listening. "When a mech dies, it's the end for them. Their memories vanish, and their frames stop - but that doesn't mean they're wholly gone. A spark doesn't disappear when a mech dies - and yeah, I know you didn't see it leave when they died, but believe me, the second their color changes, it leaves. Don't get upset, I'm going somewhere with this - " He pushes patience on Skywarp through his field, pokes his canopy again. "The spark leaves and goes back to the Well of All-Sparks. There it's safe with all the rest of the sparks, and it's waiting for a new frame, so it can come back and become a new mech. The other mechs you knew - they're gone, but their sparks are out there, and there's a good chance you could meet them again."

"But they'll be different!"

"Sure," Astrotrain says. "They could be tanks for all we know. But the point is, they get a second chance....and if you live long enough, you can find them again."

"But - but if they're different, how will I know who they are?"

"Trust your spark, Skywarp. It'll know. Some mechs you'll meet and know you can trust, just like that. Those are the sparks you met before."

"If you're lucky," Blitzwing says helpfully. "It's a legend, but he's a got a point - you can't prove or disprove it without living, just like they wanted you to."

Skywarp looks between them, then leans forward again and holds onto Astrotrain. He holds back a long, frustrated vent, gently patting Skywarp's back.

::I tried,:: he tells Blitzwing.

::You know it'll take him centuries to get over what happened,:: Blitzwing sends back, and Astrotrain nods grimly. He holds onto Skywarp, not expecting recovery overnight.

"Skywarp," he says a few kliks later, when Skywarp's field begins to smooth out, the initial rush of emotion passing. "You're safe with us. Trust that, okay?"

"Okay," Skywarp mumbles, raising a hand to rub his optics. "Can I have some fuel now?"

"Yup," Blitzwing says, pulling a cube from his subspace and offering it. "Here. Straight from the shuttle's rations."

Skywarp takes the cube, frowning at its transparent sides and the shimmering pink liquid waiting inside. He turns it in his hands. "How do I open this?"

"You don't," Blitzwing says. "These things are weird. Just poke a hole in them - like this," He demonstrates, pushing a finger into one corner of the cube. "That'll reform if you take too long to drink it. Real convenient, right?"

"Wow," Skywarp says, poking it with a finger, then again, before his hunger gets the best of him and he holds it up to his mouth, carefully gulping it down. When the cube's empty he holds it up, watching as the frame ripples and seals itself. "Who figured out how to make it do that?"

"Not a clue," Blitzwing says with a shrug. "It doesn't work for other liquids, either - it's just for energon."

"Wait," Astrotrain says. "Skywarp, you probably don't know. Energon's volatile. Don't throw it around or heat it or anything. _Especially_ not if it's high-grade. Got it?"

"If it's that dangerous, why are we drinking it?"

A basic fact of their biology, and no one had ever explained it to Skywarp. Astrotrain pushes the anger at the Quintessons away - he'll have to figure out what else Skywarp doesn't know and try to teach him before it becomes critical.

"Energon's the only fuel we can process," Astrotrain says. "Nothing else has enough punch to it keep us running. In a pinch we can get by on other fuels, but energon's it. Our systems process it so it's stable, too, as long as we're careful about internal fires."

"And it's not like other fuels are stable either," Blitzwing says with a shrug.

"That's weird," Skywarp declares, and holds the empty cube out. "Can I have more?"

"How full are your fuel tanks now?" Astrotrain asks, taking the cube.

"Forty seven percent," Skywarp reports, then mimics their frowns. "What?"

"That should've taken you up to sixty or seventy percent," Astrotrain says. "Don't tell me it takes you more to fuel that generator."

"Um, I think so," Skywarp says, looking up and touching his chin. "I usually get really hungry after 'warping like that - " He looks back at them, optics going wide. "Do you have enough fuel for me?"

"It'll make rations tight," Astrotrain says. "Yes. _Don't_ do - what'd you call it, 'warping? Don't do that unless it's an emergency."

Skywarp nods, putting his hands over his spark. "I promise."

"Don't make a show out of it, just do it," Blitzwing says, reaching out to poke his hands. "And be grateful, you're getting _my_ rations."

"Uh...okay! Thank you, Blitzwing!"

Blitzwing shakes his head, snatching the cube from Astrotrain's hand and walking back into the cockpit; he's back quickly with a filled cube, holding it out to Skywarp.

Down goes another full cube, and Skywarp grins at them both, wings perking up - his are far more mobile than Astrotrain's stiff pair, and now that they're not stuck in a permanent droop, they're nearly wiggling with the force of his emotions.

"You are weirdly bouncy," Blitzwing says, taking back the empty cube and subspacing it.

"Should I stop?" Skywarp asks, wings abruptly dropping back down. "I'm sorry, I can stop, they always said I was emotionally unstable." The last two words take on a detached, snooty accent, almost exactly Quintesson, and he looks worried.

"Who knows what the frag that means," Blitzwing says. "You can be bouncy. Forget I said anything."

"I - okay," Skywarp says. His wings pop back up, but stick closer to his back as he looks between them. "What now?"

"Now we exchange comm frequencies," Astrotrain says. "Can you hear this?" He aims a ping at him, nodding when Skywarp's wings quiver.

"What _was_ that?"

"Another essential part of your life that the Quintessons never bothered to explain," Blitzwing mutters. "It's part of your comm system - and that's a complicated rig to explain, so we'll stick to basics."

"For now," Astrotrain amends. "That was called a ping. You can do it to us. Try it."

They have to wait a few kliks for him to succeed, and Blitzwing straightens abruptly.

"I heard it," he says. "I heard it! You can stop now!"

Skywarp snickers, earning himself a gentle cuff to the helm before Blitzwing leans back against the wall, huffing.

"Pings," Astrotrain says, opting to ignore that. "Simple one-way messages. Use 'em to get a mech's attention. Don't overuse 'em - instead switch to comms once you've got someone listening. Now, I don't have your frequency, so I'll tight-beam a few words your way. Get my frequency out of that, and send a message back."

It should be mostly automatic on Skywarp's end, assuming the Quintessons haven't glitched anything up - Astrotrain sends a ::Can you hear me?:: in Skywarp's direction and waits, arms crossed, and again, it takes a few kliks for Skywarp to figure out his own systems and comm back.

::Is it working?::

Save the frequency, mark it as Skywarp's, make a note to show him how to adjust it later, and - 

::I hear you. Use comms for private conversations, or in places where you can't hear clearly, like battle. I'll send a set of numbers in a moment - that's Blitzwing's frequency. Try to send him a message using them.::

Those are sent, and again they wait - and Blitzwing nods a few kliks later.

"You've got the basics down," Blitzwing says, and Skywarp breaks into a brilliant smile.

"Now we can talk business," Astrotrain says. "I don't know if you've realized this yet, but we're in an environment with gravity. That usually means we're on either a starship or a space station, or more rarely a planet. In this case, we're on a Sharkticon patrol ship, being ferried to the nearest trade hub."

::Asters, you can ease back on the lectures,:: Blitzwing sends, field amused.

::Go frag yourself. This is important.::

Skywarp raises a hand. "Why would the Sharkticons help us?"

"They wouldn't. We hijacked this ship and rode it into the lab, and the aliens we freed rode it out. We're letting them pilot it for now, but there's a chance they'll make trouble and we'll have to take it back by force."

"Oh. Okay."

"If we have to take it back, you're helping," Blitzwing says, and Skywarp's consideration promptly turns eager and vicious.

"Really?"

"Yeah. I'll take you through target practice outside while Astrotrain's gone."

"Okay - you're leaving? Where are you going?" Skywarp's head jerks around to stare at Astrotrain, and Blitzwing snorts at the display.

"Not far," Astrotrain reassures him. "We don't have any access to this ship's sensors down here, and I don't trust any alien far enough to wait down here the whole trip. You two stay here to watch the shuttle."

"What happens if they attack you?" Skywarp asks with actual concern.

"I kill them. If they blow the ship's controls and things go to the Pit, Blitzwing blows a hole in here, and you two ride the shuttle out, and we rendezvous later."

"Oh," Skywarp says. He seems like he's out of questions, at long last, and they've left these aliens unsupervised for long enough.

Astrotrain gets to his pedes, patting Skywarp's helm roughly. "If I get into real trouble I'll comm you both for backup."

Skywarp ducks back from his touch, and that ends the briefing - Astrotrain walks out of the shuttle, leaving them both to guard it.

As he leaves he hears Blitzwing say: "That's our cue to go practice with that blaster," and Skywarp's eager agreement - and he smiles. They've done more than rescue a mech, they've picked up a sparkling. Which means they're now his guardians, and that could be cause for panic, sure, but so far it's just like handling crew - be clear and explain everything.

And he's certainly done his fair share of _that_ for now. It's Blitzwing's turn.

So he crosses the junk piles, setting one responsibility back on his partner's shoulders and taking up the rest of them. They could get away with resting down in the shuttle bay and trusting the aliens, and they _had_ gotten away with it for a few necessary cycles, but now - now he needs to make certain there's no function in this ship that can flood the junk bay with some kind of corrosive gas.

He vents at the thought, coming to a halt near the entrance into that corridor where he'd had his first battle here. Yeah, right. There's no chance they're armed like that...but it's the kind of paranoia that's kept him and Blitzwing alive, and the aliens have had several cycles to figure out how to kill them.

He dials up his sensory suites, braces himself for combat, and walks towards the entrance into the corridor. The first ambush would be here - and it isn't. The bodies on the floor have been cleaned up instead, and a green substance smeared over the walls in a some kind of pattern. There's a little pile of rocks - multiple piles, he counts them automatically and comes up with the exact number of Sharkticons that he'd killed here.

Different subroutines have to be run, analysis run based off of what he knows of most aliens - probably some kind of funerary rite. Respect for the dead...but going off of that element of randomness that came with all aliens, he had to be careful.

He opens up one finger, folding back armor to reveal sensors - these he pushes to the green substance and checks it for acids, or anything harmful - it comes back as pigment and oil, something organic but inert.

"Huh," he says outloud, closing up his finger and walking down the corridor, sensors still on high alert.

They've been rescued by a band of Sharkticon sympathizers. Incredible.

Analysis keeps running while he moves: the mention that the ship didn't have internal recording devices. The lack of natural weaponry or armor on the aliens. The as-yet unknown amount of aliens on the bridge. That Accords business.

Those Accords get matched up against _the_ list of legal codes the Galactic Council universally recognized, and - nope. They were listed over in the section where most legal codes ended up - locally enforced by the species, but in general violating one of those wouldn't get them in trouble with the galactic community at large.

One weapon prepared in case that crystal decided to press matters. It could go higher, maybe earn them a visit to some court, but really, all he had to say was "self-defense against Sharkticons working for Quintessons" and that'd be that.

The corridors pass by quickly, the lift is endured - he sends a brief complaint to Blitzwing about how he wants their ship back just so they'd have access to the wash-racks - and he reaches the bridge in barely a handful of kliks. It's actually a short walk when there aren't Sharkticons leaping out to kill him.

He stops outside the open doors to the bridge, considers eavesdropping, then gives it up and just walks in. They'd have heard his footsteps a mile away if they had working audials, and he's not in the mood to try subtlety.

The bridge is occupied: there's a pair of Sharkticons at two separate consoles, the crystal's hovering in front of the view-screen, just over a second crystal, the Insecticon-alike was perched on another console, and there were - again! - two of whatever species Thale was.

Aliens. They came in groups and were generally incomprehensible.

"I want access to one of those consoles," he says, calculating and recalculating the delay in drawing his blaster.

"State-your-intentions," chimes one of the crystals. Could be Jx - it's got the same suicidal self-importance.

"I'm verifying our flight plan," Astrotrain says. "Want to put up a fight?"

Multiple negatives from the various aliens in the bridge. Astrotrain smiles without showing his dentae and moves to a console in the middle of the room, deliberately provocative now that he's actually face-to-face with these aliens. His wings are an inviting target, his joints on display as he bends to find the access point and plug into it.

The silence continues, thick and oppressive - he'd lay bets down that the aliens were afraid of him.

Then he'd take those bets back, because he's not entirely stupid. As much as this is a show of his power, and gratifying to his ego, it doubles as a fishing expedition. Hurt _him,_ and not the vulnerable sparkling and shuttle below.

The flight plans come in, and Astrotrain checks it against his own starcharts, then unplugs, satisfied.

"That's the same route I would've taken," he says, looking around the room.

"Really," says - what was the designation, Jekka. The Insecticon-alike, with the segmented carapace and dozens of slim, delicate legs. Probably fast, if it were armed.

"Yes," Astrotrain says.

Jekka winds her way up to his side, optics fixed on his cable as he coils it up and into his arm again.

"Yes?" He asks, not comfortable with this sudden curiosity.

"The ship-wide consensus is that you're going to kill all of us before we dock."

"It's wrong," Astrotrain says with raised optic ridges.

"Well then. You'll finish us off after we dock."

"We have no intention of touching any of you unless we're attacked," Astrotrain says, deciding to be entertained by the sudden fixation on morbidity.

"Then please explain to us _when_ we attacked you," Jekka demands, leaning ever-closer to him. It's unexpectedly serious, and around him none of the aliens seem to be laughing.

He could excuse it as some kind of challenge, some indecipherable way to rattle him, but - no.

"What happened?"

"Thale is missing. We found...pieces of her in the lower levels. _Why_ did you kill her?"

Astrotrain slowly looks over at the two green-furred aliens and turns his palms up, pinging Blitzwing and Skywarp both. His plating clamps down, an automatic defensive reaction.

"I swear on my spark that we did not touch her," he says.

::What happened?:: Blitzwing pings back, as Skywarp answers with multiple pings.

::Get Skywarp and get in the shuttle. One of the aliens is dead and they blame us.::

::On it.::

The silence stretches. One of the crystals rattles.

"Why-lie-why-lie-why-lie-to-us?"

One subroutine earmarks the speedy, flowing speech as a sign of stress or upset. Astrotrain keeps his palms up, enduring the warning that drawing his blaster could be fatally delayed. They may not recognize it for what it is, but he offers it anyways.

"Thale accompanied us to the junk bay. We had a disagreement over the Sharkticon patrol I fought down there, but we parted ways without any violence. Blitzwing and I repaired each other while Skywarp recharged in the berth, and before you accuse us of leaving him unsupervised, he couldn't have gotten out of the shuttle without our noticing - and he was exhausted. _Our_ ships have basic surveillance devices. I can bring you the files, if you'll trust them, and accept that they lack sound."

"We have difficulty trusting you," says one of the furry aliens. He'll need designations sooner or later, and some way to differentiate between them.

"And we don't care about what you did on the shuttle, we want to see that argument," says Jekka. "We want a good explanation all of these things: why you killed her, when you'll kill us, and if you truly didn't kill her, who did?"

"We did not touch her," Astrotrain says slowly. "If you'll trust it, I can offer a personal record of our argument. Frag, I can put it on that view-screen now. As for who did - have you counted all the Sharkticons? Is anything else on board?"

"Obviously we have no way of finding out!" One of the crystals snaps. They're both spinning and rotating, an unwelcome change from their bunching up - the way they catch the light draws his targeting systems.

"We want to see this," says the other fur-clad alien.

"The Sharkticons did not do this thing."

"If they didn't, we're all in danger," Astrotrain says, slowly and deliberately plugging back into the console. "Since none of you are familiar with my systems, I'm _not_ one of those mechs who can self-edit memory files. Neither is Blitzwing. This is the raw data."

He replaces the starfield on the view-screen with his optical feed of that encounter, using the local speakers - placed at the ground level, with a heavy distortion that he cleans up as best he can before restarting the file and syncing it all together to run: his own memory file. It's strange to watch it play out without any of the adornments of his HUD that he's used to - no targeting overlay, none of the associated bursts of data or emotional tags or anything from his other sensors.

No one says a thing - there's movement from the crystals and Jekka both, and the Sharkticons hiss at each other at irregular intervals, but that's it - he lets it run up until the glimpse of the shuttle's interior, then cuts it and replaces it with the starfield.

"We want a copy," says one of the crystals.

"Oh, be more sensitive," says Jekka. "That's it, then? You never saw her again?"

Astrotrain unplugs from the console, crossing his arms. "That's the truth."

Perhaps he could offer more than that and fully exonerate himself, but he's not willing to expose Blitzwing's repairs or Skywarp's unguarded expressions. Besides - 

Jekka's optic-stalks rotate, then fix back on him. "You two wouldn't bother with subtleties, would you? You'd just blast her away."

Astrotrain nods, engine rumbling briefly. "We wouldn't be careless about leaving pieces if we were trying it out. I want an answer to my question: who or what else is onboard?"

While he waits on _that,_ he opens up comms to Blitzwing and Skywarp.

::Blitzwing. The alien who escorted us down is dead. Something left pieces of her out. Chances are we're not in any danger, and whatever's hunting is gunning for organics. Question for us is, how involved do we want to be?::

::Did you get the flight data? Are we moving?::

::Yeah, we're moving. Taking the same route I would've taken, too. They aren't making any noises about stopping.::

::Then it makes sense to stay! We'll tucked in tight down here, Asters. Have fun hunting.::

Skywarp sends a ping as the channel closes, acknowledgement. Good. Blitzwing should be briefing him about what they kept off the comms right about now, and explaining why they didn't go into specifics.

The aliens, meanwhile - "Of the escapees from that...facility, we're it as far as the range of species goes," Jekka says.

"There are others of our kind in the medical bay with the Sharkticons," say the crystals. "One of the Bhrers is with them."

"Bhrer," Astrotrain repeats the word, and gets pointed to the furry aliens.

"Species-name," says a crystal. "We are Llx. I am Lx, and you have met Jx."

"This is hardly important now," Jx chimes. "A full accounting has been given. None of us are armed or prepared for any kind of combat the way you are. The Sharkticons would hardly attack _us._ I reluctantly accept Jekka's reasoning, but nothing came onto this ship with us. The Sharkticons claim they captured nothing sentient or dangerous in their patrol outside you."

"So whatever did it, they came onboard another way," Astrotrain concludes. "They could've hidden inside Thale, come out the messy way, or found some hole in Sharkticon defenses. If it's a predator, those tend to retreat and find somewhere safe to heal up after a meal - but some keep hunting. We don't have enough information to use for any useful conclusions."

"You assume it isn't sentient?"

"We do _not_ agree that it is a predator!"

Two separate questions, and he's wound up playing lecturer again.

 _"Before_ anyone argues with me," Astrotrain says sharply. "You want my advice? Get armed, stay in groups, and assume the worst. If this ship has escape craft, locate them. Set a guard on the engines and other vital systems. Rig up a communications system so you can stay in touch. If you're lucky, it's a nonsentient predator that's content with one meal. If you're not, it's a sentient one, looking to strand us and kill us all."

And if he's unlucky, it's interested in eating metals and energon as well as organic flesh.

There's silence after his speech, and he makes a show of pulling his blaster, turning to stand so he's got optics on the entrance to the bridge.

"...Alright," Jekka says. "No one else will say it, so I will. What do we have to do to get you to help us?"

That's worthy of a snort.

"I came up here to make sure we were in motion, and I'm going to stay here until we're docked." He thinks it over, then reaches into his subspace, tossing a few Sharkticon blasters onto the deck in front of him. "Here. Weaponry."

The Sharkticons, to their credit, immediately dart over to take the blasters. One leaves, and the other perches itself by the door, attempting to look dangerous.

There's a pop from outside the room, and a screech that's all-too-familiar to Astrotrain's optics. He moves before he thinks, his own blaster at the ready as he slides into the hallway, systems spinning up and everything snapping into that perfect focus as he prepares for combat - 

Down the hallway there's a Sharkticon on the floor and a seeker-framed mech crouching over it, blue liquid coating its claws and face. Its helm snaps up, its optics flare crimson, and it hisses at him.

"Oh, slag," Astrotrain says, opening fire, putting twin holes in the seeker's wings. It snarls, the wounds - glitching? - as it leaps forward at him.

 _::Blitzwing!::_ He shouts, firing into the seeker's canopy, into its neck, into wherever the blasts will hit as its claws drag gouges through his armor and scrabble for purchase against his arm. It hisses, his optics continue to glitch, and somewhere in the distance there's howling - but that could be glitches, too.

He slams the butt of his gun into the seeker's helm, and the whole monster _flickers,_ vanishing from his sensors as it drops off of him and vanishes from his optical sensors too.

::What?:: Blitzwing sends back. ::Astrotrain!::

::Got attacked. _Not_ an alien.:: Astrotrain sends back, jerking himself back to a wall, helm turning constantly as he thinks, sensors dialed up. The Sharkticon - the other living one - nearly gets shot, but he's adjusted his targets. He's waiting for that distinctive wing shape and glowing optics. To explain things to Blitzwing, he sends a visual of the seeker. ::It could do what Skywarp did. But worse. I think it's from the lab, didn't show up on my sensors at all. But the wounds are real.::

"Is it - did you kill it?" asks Jekka from the doorway to the bridge.

"Inside!" Astrotrain orders, and he moves, grabbing the Sharkticon and bodily throwing it back into the bridge before seizing its dead - dying? - partner and hauling it in too. He drops it on the floor, then turns to seal the doors closed and move to stand next to them, back against the wall, keenly aware that he's fighting something he doesn't know how to anticipate.

::Astrotrain, I need orders,:: Blitzwing sends. ::Are we fighting this, running, what?::

::Hold position,:: Astrotrain says. ::Interrogate Skywarp. I need to know if he can remember anything about the experiments. If this thing is armed, if it has combat data, _anything.::_

"What _happened?"_

"Shut up!" Astrotrain orders. "All of you!"

To their credit - they do. The room is still and silent, even the crystals freezing in place - and Astrotrain vents softly, daring to check the charge on his blaster. It could be back at any second. It could be hunting his partner.

Assumptions: there's only one of these seekers. It's insane, gone mad from the experiments. It's killing without choosing distinctive targets. It likes corridors. It can't be killed with conventional blaster shots, unless it can. The glitching in his optics indicated that when he'd damaged it, that had affected its stability. The assumption that his blaster shots had damaged it at all.

Astrotrain slowly comes away from the wall, then goes directly to the nearest console - forget any shows of power, he needs information now if he wants to survive this. He plugs in, dumping the raw optical data into the viewscreen again, omitting audial data - he looks up, ready for that glitching, hoping it'll translate differently through this filter.

The viewscreen outright refuses to try. He receives an error, multiple errors, and he's forced to take a simple visual of how his systems had seen it, and send that back through, fulfilling his secondary objective here - he's offering the simplest possible explanation for his behavior.

The visual provokes a startled murmur, a hiss of fright from the Sharkticon: that seeker's snarling face as it had clawed at his forearm, the glitching apparent over its chest and wings.

"Your companion," says Jx, interrupting Astrotrain's focus on the analysis he's running on the glitches.

"No," he snaps. "Skywarp's with Blitzwing. There was a second batch of seekers in that lab, and they were at ground zero when the place imploded."

"What _are_ we facing?" Jekka demands. "Do we even stand a chance against that thing?"

"That's what I'm trying to find out," Astrotrain snaps again. The raw optical data peels back to reveal that the glitches are caused by an overlay of at least twenty individual images appearing in the same place, or in other words - dimensional chaos. Technology so far above his paygrade it isn't funny. He tries to set up a filter, tries to produce an image that isn't glitched to Pit, and quickly sorts through the dozen available choices - at least one of them shows the wound, exposed circuitry where his blaster had melted away the armor plating, and _that's_ the information he's looking for, proof he can fight this creature.

"Where is it now?" asks a Bhrer somewhere in the middle of this analysis, and Astrotrain spares it a glance when he's finished, sending a condensed summary of his findings to Blitzwing.

"Answers," he says, talking to these aliens so far down his priorities that he doesn't spare any subroutines for politeness or form. "I'm running on assumptions. My weaponry seems to damage it. It vanished when I hit it, probably warped itself away - "

Howling begins to echo in the room, a sound that sends more glitches through his audials - reality begins to splinter, and then the seeker's back, hooking its claws into the gaps in his armor at the wrist, its frame shuddering with the shock of him firing, over and over again into its canopy - there's some kind of shouting, motion he needs to focus on, but that sickening sensation of being twisted and _twisted_ until he breaks - 

Everything slides sideways, the seeker's optics glowing brighter as reality dissolves.

And reforms.

And he is released.

Astrotrain resets his optics, all of his sensory suites, trying to figure out what just happened, why glitchy static keeps showing in his vision. The seeker stands back, a hand over its cracked canopy, laughing soundlessly as he drops to his knees, something vital gone from his balance.

There are hands on his wings, feather-light touches on his back, creeping up his neck, sensations that provoke yet more static from overstressed systems. He has to shut them down, some of them, just to relieve the strain. The sensation of hands on his frame vanishes, but the pressure remains, only a simple sensory suite left to report the contact.

Everything comes in monochrome and static as he looks up from the deck immediately beneath him, and the seeker grins at him, a ghostly image in this not-place. He's outside reality, his comms reaching no one and nothing.

Like ghosts the aliens move behind and around them, staring at where he's vanished from their view.

A rolling ache begins in his pedes, moving up through all of his frame, something violent pushing at all of his sensors.

And at a great distance - he hears howling, anguished screaming, a sound that never stops, not for a breath, not for anything -

A seeker's bright optics appear in front of him upside-down, a grinning face leaning over his back and braced on his wings.

"--- --- ?" asks the painfully young voice, but the words are static. This one - it could be Skywarp's clone, if the colors weren't wrong, if its face weren't dark metal and its helm bright gray-white. "--- -- !"

"--- Can't," says the other, hand leaving its canopy to reveal smooth glass. "Try this modulation, it seems to work."

The language is Quintesson, he realizes through the haze, unable to mistake that spiraling descent in tone for anything else.

"How - ?" He asks, flinches from the sound of his own voice emitting that static, his distinct whistle-echo exaggerated to terrible effect in this place.

"Quintessons!" says the seeker on his back - it jumps off and lands with a laugh, holding a hand out to him, claws sharp and glinting in the not-light of this dimension. Astrotrain pushes himself back up to his pedes, stumbling with the fluxes in gravity. Nothing feels stable here.

He has to get back. He has to get a signal to Skywarp to come rescue him.

"We need you to make it stop," says the other seeker.

He realizes he's dropped his blaster. He risks a look down, suffers vertigo for it, and doesn't see it.

"Make what - " He stops again, wincing at the sharp pain in his helm.

His elbow is grabbed and he's dragged around, brought away from the bridge and through rooms and down corridors and the howling gets worse, and worse, and - he is brought to Thale.

She's curled in a ball, red - the color is vivid through the monochromes - and it's so loud he has to shut off his audials defensively.

The red is dripping from her limbs, where pieces have been chunked away, bright white struts exposed and worse. A damaged organic, and he doesn't know how to repair it - but he doesn't think they want it dead.

Sparklings, he realizes in a burst of clarity. Sparklings trying to interact with someone and hurting it, and finding the nearest grown mech to fix things.

Frag, is _this_ what this is? Not some deranged predators out to kill him for failing to rescue them, but curious Cybertronians?

It'd be nice if that were true. He tries to modulate his vocalizer, minimize his distinctive echo - 

"Put it where I was," he says, choosing the same mode of address for Thale as they have, unwilling to risk understanding in this place. "With the aliens. Put _me_ with her."

His modulation hardly works, his own voice a threat to his aching audials, but it cuts through Thale's crazed howling and it makes the seekers act: one seizes his arm, the other seizes her shoulder, and they're dragged through the not-place back to the bridge. Gravity fluxes wildly around him, pulling crazily at his limbs, and he staggers along, barely staying on his pedes. There's the sound of wild chatter around him, words he can't understand and occasional laughter.

But something nags and nags and nags as he moves, something missing from this crazed place, something aside from how he can't even keep his sensors online to check for energy signatures - 

Skywarp's on the bridge when they return, a _solid_ figure amongst the ghosts of the aliens, one with his hands up as he stares down an armed Sharkticon.

Which...makes...three. Comprehension hits. Skywarp's mouth moves faster, and he has to start talking too, get the question out - 

"Where's your third?"

No response - they don't even look at him. Reality abruptly goes weirder around him, and air bangs as it's displaced - 

He hits the deck, booting up systems and receiving the automatic stream of pings from Blitzwing, the desperate search for a missing partner - 

"Astrotrain!" Skywarp cries, and there's a hand on his shoulder. His EM field is a welcome sensation, that concern a relief.

There's alien chatter, Galactic Common and another dialect being used, but he has to prioritize what he's dealing with, systems still too scattered for multitasking.

Important: the two seekers are gone. Thale's on the floor, the two others of her kind tending to her and chattering away. He's undamaged, aside from gouges and unsteadiness in his processors. Skywarp's intact.

::Blitzwing,:: he finally answers. ::I'm alive.::

If Skywarp's here, Blitzwing's with the shuttle. It's what he would've done in his place, except that if their positions had been reversed, he would have been able to stow the shuttle's supplies in his subspace and just leave, because he _is_ a shuttle - 

::What the frag happened?::

::The other mechs the Quintessons had. The ones who saw us. They're alive and they followed us. Two at least, probably a third. They go wherever Skywarp goes when he 'warps, and I think they _live_ there.::

Too much information over unsecured lines, but fraggit, Blitzwing _needs to know._

"Skywarp," he says, choosing Tarnic. "Get back to Blitzwing and guard him."

Skywarp's field promptly turns distressed. "I can't," he says.

"What's wrong?"

"Er," Skywarp says, and to his credit he switches to comms.

::I can't warp again without, y'know. Fuel. I've got two more jumps in me, but you said we don't have much energon...::

Two. Limited, precious resource....and that can't be the only reason.

::Do you spend any time there?:: He asks.

::Where?::

::Where the others took me.::

Skywarp shakes his helm immediately. ::I've never - I can't do that.::

::We'll talk about it later,:: Astrotrain settles for that, shelving his questions as he handles the concurrent conversation with Blitzwing:

::Astrotrain, we should leave.::

::It won't make a difference if they're following us. This starship is moving faster than our shuttle could go.::

Which meant they either had to distract, destroy, or otherwise deal with their pursuit. Assuming the seekers were stalking them - which Astrotrain did - that narrowed their options - and destruction was off the table, given what they were.

::Frag,:: Blitzwing says. ::Were they sane? Could you talk to them?::

::They spoke Quintessoni and behaved like sparklings. The missing alien was damaged and traumatized, so - assumption - they brought me in to get their toy repaired.::

::Then why attack you?:: Blitzwing sends back.

Which is where he's at in his conversations when Jekka comes up to him, pushing one of her appendages into his chest with a firm tap.

"For the stareater's sake, _what is going on?"_

"Quintesson experimental units survived the lab's implosion and followed us," Astrotrain says. "They're sentient, young, and dangerous."

Jekka's optic-stalks bob, and she pulls back, apparently appeased. Astrotrain glances at the other aliens, glances at Skywarp, and rubs his nasal ridge.

::I don't know why they attacked me, Blitzwing. Try to talk to them if they grab you, and keep a closer eye on our energon rations. I don't want to know if they need fuel.::

"What now?" Skywarp asks quietly.

"Haven't decided," Astrotrain murmurs. "Can you sense them? Do you have any capabilities that could help here?"

"No, I - no." Skywarp's wings droop.

"Okay," Astrotrain says. "Don't think about it. Help me find my blaster instead."

Skywarp's wings go up instantly, and he reaches into his subspace, pulling out the weapon and holding it out. Astrotrain takes it, checking it automatically and gripping it.

"Thank you," he says, and Skywarp's EM field nearly glows with happiness.

::Everything's clear down here,:: Blitzwing sends back. ::Astrotrain, I could load up my subspace and head up there.::

Astrotrain smiles at Skywarp, thinking it over - he sends back approval.

::Keep an open comm line when you do. I want to know where you are at all times.::

::Got it.::

For approximately two kliks Astrotrain gets peace, as Skywarp stands silently and lets him subspace his blaster. Jekka keeps her distance, apparently appeased with the quick briefing, as do the crystals. The bhrers remain by Thale, continuing to speak in their native language, their bulk blocking his view of their repairs.

There is no sign of the seekers, and when he looks the single ambulatory Sharkticon in the room has retreated to one of the corners by a console, crouched next to its still-damaged partner.

Another klik passes and he lets his systems do some quick reboots, working glitches out of the systems - nothing lasting, nothing dangerous, but he could use some repair work on his processors whenever he has a safe place to focus inward and do the work. His audials report minor strain, but all-in-all he's sane and in the right reality - and armed. His favorite blaster is safely stowed in his subspace, and later he knows he'll analyze the moment he was taken, try to find out how and why he dropped it.

One of the bhrers steps away from Thale and comes to him, stopping a short distance away. It bows so deeply its head touches the deck - unmistakable gratitude.

"Our profoundest gratitude for rescuing Thale," it says. "We offer you a lifedebt - "

"Call it a favor," Astrotrain says immediately. "We don't want any of your kind following us around or trying to defend us. Just help us out if we cross paths in the future and we'll be even."

It's a defense, pre-empting the aliens who like to get clingy when they're rescued or otherwise helped by incidental actions. He and Blitzwing don't want tagalongs or stowaways or anything involved with lifedebts, especially when most organics break down and die long before any Cybertronian will.

"...We do not understand your ways, but we shall respect them," says the bhrer. "If we may help you in the future, please allow us to."

"Alright," Astrotrain says, and nothing else. He and the bhrer trade looks for a long klik before it takes the hint and walks away.

"Why are you so hostile?" Jekka asks. "They're trying to like you despite everything you are."

"Is this the time for a conversation about my attitude?" Astrotrain asks.

"Well, yes? I don't see any of those Quintesson experiments attacking us, and it doesn't look like you're going anywhere at the moment, so why not?"

Astrotrain isn't inclined to answer, except for the way Skywarp's field has turned curious. He glances at Skywarp, then lets out a soft vent and addresses Jekka.

"First point, we aren't interested in getting involved in any rituals or practices that could put some kind of obligation on us. Even if they mean well with a lifedebt, that could turn into, say, one of them following us around."

"You must have had some bad experiences with other species if you think that could happen," Jekka says.

"You don't want to know," Astrotrain says. "Second point. We aren't here to make friends - we want a ride to civilization. That is _all_ we want, and if you haven't noticed, you aren't necessary for piloting this ship."

Jekka rears up on her appendages, rising to be optic-to-optic with him. He can feel the fine brush of her sensory filaments, can suddenly smell a tangy, organic odor. He's _offended_ her, his subroutines announce.

No frag, he thinks darkly, watching her without saying a word.

"Listen here, robot - "

There's the sound of pedesteps outside the bridge, loud enough to interrupt her - abruptly she's back on the deck, moving to place him between her and the door.

"Robot," Astrotrain says. "Really. We're not automatons."

"Tell me you hear that."

Astrotrain raises a hand as Blitzwing comes into view. He leaves Jekka behind, following Skywarp over to Blitzwing as they gather by one console.

"I'm intact," Astrotrain says, enduring the cursory scan Blitzwing gives him, reciprocating with one of his own. ::Can't say the same for the alien, but it'll live and the other furry ones owe us a lifedebt.::

::Did you get it down to a favor?::

Astrotrain gives him a look, and Blitzwing raises his palms defensively, shrugging.

"No trouble on the way up," he says, and falls silent. There's a lot they can't say in front of an audience, speculations that would only confuse the situation. Which left - "Skywarp? Thanks. I felt better with you up here."

Skywarp blinks, then shuffles. "I don't know if I _did_ anything."

"You got my blaster," Astrotrain says. "And now you'll help us keep watch."

"...Um, how long do we have to wait here?"

"A couple days," Astrotrain says. "Not long - "

"That's _forever!"_

Astrotrain shares an exasperated look with Blitzwing, then sends a warning ping as a familiar alien slips closer. ::The red alien - Jekka - she's been overly interested in us.::

Blitzwing nods, even as he reaches out to poke Skywarp's helm. "That's not forever. Do you know how big space is? Crossing it takes millions of years even in the fastest ships."

The word child drifts out of a conversation across the room, one between the bhrers and the crystals. Skywarp and Blitzwing talk, explaining basic concepts like space travel and lifespans. Astrotrain lets his own focus drift, optics dimming, then closing.

It could be cycles he spends like that, or days - it's not as restful as recharge, but it's the closest he can get without shutting down entirely, and it does his systems wonders. Blitzwing sends him all the right signals, reassuring him that he's safe, he can hand authority over without argument.

After a time, it slips over into true recharge.

//

Blitzwing watches Astrotrain tip back against the wall and keeps his smile to himself, relieved by the sight of it. It won't be as comfortable as lying in a berth, but it's the best they can do up here.

A hush falls over the bridge - Skywarp's questions come to a halt, the various aliens realizing that something has changed. Blitzwing has a seat on the console, posture relaxed as he looks out over the crowd.

"Nothing's going to happen," he tells Skywarp, in Galactic Common, specifically to spread his prediction. "But keep your optics open."

Skywarp gives him a furtive nod, the excitement from the situation faded by now, and he finds a perch on a nearby console, the two of them becoming silent sentinels as the aliens slowly return to their activities - Thale's carried away, probably to the medical bay, and the crystals flit between consoles and Sharkticons, their native language chiming across the bridge.

Jekka sits not too far away, watching them all with equal patience, but she doesn't try to speak to them.

Time passes. Whatever Astrotrain encountered doesn't reappear. Sharkticons help up the damaged unit and carry it away as well.

Skywarp turns to look at him, and quietly comms him for permission to recharge, and he grants it.

Time, to most Cybertronians, slips by easily when there isn't something that demands their total focus. As he'd told Skywarp, they'll live for longer than the universe will unless something kills them, and if they couldn't let the days slip by they'd all be bored long before then.

"So don't worry about your chronometer too much when you're in space," he'd said. "A day or two is nothing. Find something to think about, or don't think about anything - it's up to you, and we don't care what you do as long as you're here when it counts."

With their setup on the bridge and Astrotrain easily trading off shifts when he comes out of recharge, Blitzwing's declaration comes true: nothing happens. Jekka leaves them alone, as do the crystals. They don't see Thale, or any of her kind.

It's exactly how Blitzwing wanted it after that mission, and he accepts boredom happily, content to have his partner within arm's reach.

//

"Captain? Big news from the station. Same stuff out of the traders, too - looks like it's real."

It's quiet on the bridge, the kind of quiet that comes when the captain's mad. First thing the crew had learnt about their new captain: unlike the last ones, when her temper went off, it went off hot.

"When I took this post," she says quietly, ominously, "I swore to myself I wouldn't shoot the messenger. Even if the news meant we were all slagged. So I won't. Give me the summary of what everyone's saying."

The comms mech in question puts on her best professional expression and reports: "Astrotrain and Blitzwing assaulted the Quintesson lab, blew it up, and rode out in a captured Sharkticon ship with a whole band of survivors. Including a Cybertronian mech. They've posted a message to the datanets demanding we pick them up, as per our orders."

Outright defiance of her authority, denial of the mutiny, triumph to back it up, and all of that posturing performed in public so by refusing the order they come out looking like untrustworthy criminals.

The Captain's vents glow with the force of her anger, and the explosions to come won't be pretty.

"Set course for their location," comes the order in a level tone. "I want to talk to them."

//

The trade station they'd come to was owned by the Phytians, a group of aliens Astrotrain had described as star-loving organics who relied on solar power and were generally peaceful members of the Galactic Council, whenever they weren't desperately at war with each other, fighting over better locations for their stations and colonies.

It was weird, by Skywarp's estimates. Why fight over something like that, and why open it up for all kinds of aliens to visit?

That question had been answered in one word: profits. Not that it explained much to Skywarp, but Astrotrain had moved onto a lesson about behavior and safety and he'd been given an assignment...

So now he sits on a walkway covered with organic decoration - plants, was the word - overlooking a room bigger than the Sharkticon junkbay. It was filled with aliens seated around geometric tables, and green tentacled aliens - not Quintessons! - scurried around, exchanging credits for fuel. Food. His dictionaries were confused by the frequent swapping of languages, giving him a processor ache.

Above sunlight filtered in, making his optics twinge as they adjusted, and around him more aliens moved, using the walkway to travel, to sit and watch like he was, or just to stand and stare up at the light of the local star. Below them all Astrotrain and Blitzwing dwarfed their table and stood out, being large and inorganic, and so far he'd counted fourteen different aliens watching them as they refueled.

That was the assignment. Watch the aliens watching them, and ignore the ones watching _him._

It had been exciting at first, figuring out what were optics and who was staring where, or sneaking covert glances, but now he had the place mapped and he was _bored._

So he did the first entertaining thing that came to mind and tuned his audials just right, and - 

"That rust bucket," says Astrotrain. "We might have to hurry if they want to make trouble."

"Depends on how long until we can clear dock - I was thinking, we could clamp Flare to the hull."

"You can do that the day she actually does that to us and not before." Astrotrain said, as boring as ever when it came to doing new things. "Moving on. We may have blown up the only authorities on those generators in the galaxy. Datanet refuses to turn up anything."

"That's a joke, right? The Quintessons can't be the only ones crazy enough to study - "

Skywarp retunes his audials, leaning back on his hands as he looks up at the sunlight. He's bored; tired of endlessly waiting around while he has to soak in all kinds of lessons and rules. The novelty of being free hasn't worn off yet, but he hardly wants to sit around when he itches to get up and fly - really test his wings, instead of his processors.

The first thing he had learnt about Vos was that it had been a city where everyone could fly.

"What does 'fly' mean?" He'd asked at the time. They'd only been given the Quintesson language files - the older ones hadn't yet dared to slip them Vosian files. His question had prompted a sudden illicit swapping of cables and files; a gift of language and more importantly a single visual file. It was all they could risk; later, when the Quintessons had found out and punished the older mechs, they hadn't bothered to erase such small files. So that had worked.

The visual was of Vos from above, when the light from some local sun hit it at an angle that lit up all of its spires with bright yellow light, painting the city in silvers and golds and making it difficult to pick out more details - it was an impression of the city, of thousands of towers rising up from the surface, not a single structure connected to another one by any bridges, of some of the towers with folded out ledges, others with dedicated balconies - but those were details he had picked out only after weeks of opening the visual and taking it in over and over again in his free moments.

His question had earned him that, and the knowledge that flying was a type of movement he specialized in. If the Quintessons would ever allow him to use it, he had an altmode that was even sleeker in the air - but things had deteriorated in the labs long before he received any training, and all he had were legends and confusing meanings in his language files.

In the here and now he stands up, scattering the aliens around him, looking up at the sunlight. This place _is_ large enough, and he can surely watch everything from the air.

All he has to do is figure out how to actually fly - he thinks of Blitzwing soaring past his cell, works through the mechanics of that - how his thrusters provided thrust, how he had gone where his wings and nose had pointed - it can't be so difficult if he's built for it. It _can't_ be.

//

The distinctive sound of a Cybertronian transforming draws their optics, and Blitzwing stands up as he spots Skywarp folding into his altmode - the classic seeker tetrajet, ungainly anywhere except in the air.

"Go," Astrotrain says. "I'll watch your energon."

A fire starts above as Skywarp fires his thrusters, accidentally pushing himself halfway off the walkway. Blitzwing jumps as he transforms, rattling tables around as he soars up that distance to shoot past Skywarp and circle around.

::Fire all of your thrusters at once, and try to pull up as soon as you can,:: he sends to Skywarp. It's obvious what's happened - they'd left a flier alone in a large room without anything else to do, and of course his thoughts had turned to flying. What hurts is the thought that this might be Skywarp's first time; it's hardly ideal, but reprimanding him for this would be stupid.

Skywarp's engines roar to life with surprising strength, and he shoots off of the walkway, veering first to the side and then up, and up - 

::Quarter power!:: Blitzwing sends as he streaks after him. ::Do _not_ go through those windows!::

Skywarp's engines cut, then light back up, and he wobbles in the air; probably overwhelmed with too much sensation, whole sensory arrays activating for the first time. Blitzwing has some sympathy, but not enough to let him make a mistake that'll force them into debt. He deliberately overshoots Skywarp, getting between him and the rapidly approaching windows, forcing him to turn in the air and fly another course.

For now, and only while he has more experience than Skywarp, he has the advantage in the air. He uses it, ruthlessly pushing into Skywarp's flight path to force him to execute turns and then to slowly spiral down around the enclosure. They pass over countless spaces similar to where he'd been refueling, circular rooms enclosed by walls but left without any ceilings, criss-crossed by walkways. The space above the walkways is all vertical, meant to channel the starlight down into the mess of plants and onto the guests; if he looks for decoration it's all murals and carved shapes in the walls.

::Wait until we get you outside,:: he sends as they loop past one expansive mural. ::There's not enough room in here to really push yourself.::

::How do we get outside?:: Skywarp asks, tone bright with excitement.

::By landing on the walkway and transforming. Go on!::

::We're going to _stop?::_

::We're going _outside._ This stunt's probably made the station owners mad, so we should bring it to a close and get out before they stick us with fines.::

::Oh.:: Skywarp obediently drops, landing on the walkway with both pedes as he finishes transforming.

"Nice job," Blitzwing tells him when he's on his own pedes, taking his shoulder and grinning. "That went a lot better than my first flight did; I crashed!" He moves them as he speaks, nudging Skywarp towards the nearest airlock. The Phytians may want to stick them with criminal charges if the plants Skywarp set on fire were sentient, or vulnerable, and the safest course now is to move.

"Really?" Skywarp asks, optics glittering with excitement, wings up and quivering with unspent energy. He stumbles a few times as they move, and Blitzwing shifts his grip to his arm to help keep him upright; he is painfully familiar with that trouble, remembering how to use pedes after flying.

"Right into a hull," Blitzwing says with a laugh at the memory. "I had to spent a week waiting for my nosecone to repair itself."

"How much did that hurt?"

"Ever crush a digit? It's like that, but more spread out, and it ached like slag. Word of advice, kid: don't ever crash - here we go."

There's movement down the length of the walkway, upset aliens heading their way, but Blitzwing reaches the airlock first, punching in the public access codes that let them into the cramped 'lock - if Skywarp were any bigger they wouldn't fit without taking turns. It's an empty little room, bereft of anything but safety gear for organics stored in tidy amber-covered pods and simpler cabinets Blitzwing knows contains portable atmosphere for those who need it.

Not them. The atmosphere is pumped out of the room, and their filtration systems relax at the sudden relief from moisture-rich air. His own vents gust as they expel any last trace of it out of his systems, and finally the outer door slides open.

::Wait until you're clear of the station to transform, then follow me,:: Blitzwing sends, bracing himself at the edge of the entryway and shoving off, transforming as he goes, burning his engines gently as he soars away from the main body of the Phytian station.

He spins in the void slowly, sensors angled back to watch Skywarp as he turns his head this way and that, taking in the vast empty space in front of him. That reaction _isn't_ good, and realization creeps up on Blitzwing through the cloud of other concerns: Skywarp's never flown in space before, not without the distraction of a Quintesson lab imploding in front of him. Not unless the Quintessons brought him out here.

::Ever fly out here before?:: Blitzwing asks, and Skywarp's optics snap towards him.

::No,:: Skywarp says, finally shoving himself free of the station, tumbling in the void. ::How - ::

::It's simple inertia,:: Blitzwing explains, hoping that's all Skywarp needs to adjust to how vast space is. ::Fire your thrusters, point yourself towards me. Don't compensate for atmosphere - there isn't any.::

They're drifting further and further away from the gigantic mass of the space station, but it'll be hours yet at this pace before it shrinks in their view. Blitzwing keeps his focus on Skywarp, watching him figure out how to use the thrusters in his legs to steer his trajectory.

If he'd planned this, he would have tagged Skywarp with some kind of remote stasis device, or at the very least a tracking device. The first time _he_ hit open space, he'd locked up. It had scared Astrotrain, sure, but after he figured out how to handle the sheer scope of the universe's size, he'd been fine. Astrotrain, on the other servo, had panicked and flown off; now Skywarp was about to run into that same adjustment, and he hadn't thought to prepare him for it, all caught up in getting them out of the way of alien authorities.

His comms are busy with traffic from those authorities, messages he routes to Astrotrain, chiming in with only basic reassurances; promises to prevent that from happening ever again, all the right gestures. As for Astrotrain he sends the number of the airlock he left from.

And in front of him Skywarp transforms, frame folding in on itself as his wings move up and broaden into the flared shape of the tetrajet. Blitzwing sends him an approving ping, and takes off, burning his engines hot as he demands Skywarp follow.

If Skywarp's going to panic and glitch out, he needs to know now rather than later.

//

With his wings in place, Skywarp answers Blitzwing's challenge with a happy rev of his engines, lighting up with power as he flies - _flies!_ \- under his own power in an environment too large to hold him. It's _freedom,_ incredible and instantly addictive, and soon he abandons the boring course of following Blitzwing to pull up and face the massive column of the space station, optical sensors taking in its tapering design, narrowing the further it gets from the sun; but it is so huge it seems to go for miles, the tapering so subtle he misses it on the first look. Besides, the sight of the star is far more arresting, with its horrendously bright light that sends warnings through his HUD. He can't look at it for too long without burning out his sensors, so he shifts his gaze to the massive golden solar collectors, transparent from below.

Everything is _new_ and he wants to use his newfound freedom to go and explore it, but through the wall of noise from the column - inside his comms had been flooded with the noise of a thousand signals from who-knew-what sources, and outside the noise is both more and less, his audials gone silent but his comms busier than ever - through that wall Blitzwing's comm reaches him, calling him back; it isn't an order, but he obeys anyways.

The joy of it reaches him again as he loops around, the maneuver hilariously easy without any gravitational pulls or atmosphere fighting him. He laughs outright, burning his engines hot as he shoots off after Blitzwing. From _this_ angle, away from the star, he can see the bright streaks of solar light along the space station, the sudden cut-off as the tapering in the station becomes acute enough to block off that light. Blitzwing himself is a tiny speck against its surface, and one he can outmatch now that he can fly as fast as he wants - 

It's bliss, and Blitzwing doesn't stop him as he blazes ahead and down the length of the space station, darting into its shadow and out again. He twirls in the void, flashing lights at Blitzwing before he flips back over, darting over the edge of the space station - and here he nearly stalls with shock.

He has come sensor to sensor with the open expanse - there is _nothing_ everywhere he looks, distant pinpricks of light here and there but it is vast and empty and his engine sputters, the immensity of it catching up to him in a sudden rush. He could fire up his other engine and 'warp anywhere and he wouldn't arrive anywhere - 

::Skywarp!::

He came here in a starship, carried by aliens who have maps and know where there are actually places to go to, but that had never meant anything to him before now, now that he can fly and fly and fly without getting anywhere - 

::SKYWARP!::

Something hurtles past him, something bright and hot that stings his wing as it passes, and he belatedly recognizes a blaster bolt, a weapon - he rolls in the void, sensors spinning wildly as he comes back around - and stops, engines cutting, other, smaller thrusters firing on his forward levels to stop his movement.

::Blitzwing?:: He says, staring at where he's transformed, at the gigantic shape of the space station behind him, at the horribly bright light of the star above them all.

Below them all. Orientation here is impossible, with no anchor but what the aliens have created - 

::Tell me you're sane,:: Blitzwing sends him.

::Sane,:: Skywarp sends back, shaken by how loose his thoughts had come in panic. ::Why did you - what happened?::

::Same thing that happened to Astrotrain. First time he hit open space he freaked and I had to chase him in our ship before he calmed down.::

::Oh,:: Skywarp says. ::I'm sorry.::

::No, I am. You could've burnt your engines out, and I should've warned you. The first encounter with a panorama like that knocks anyone for a loop.::

He slowly rotates, looking out into the void, unable to figure out why the sudden absence of the space station had shaken him so badly.

::Skywarp, we need to get back to the docks. Can you follow me now?::

Skywarp shifts his sensors to Blitzwing, watching him transform. He waggles his wings at him, if he's watching.

::I don't want to stop flying.::

::We can't miss this ship's arrival, but I promise we'll fly more once we're home again.:: Blitzwing turns in the void, pointing his nosecone at him.

Skywarp flies over to Blitzwing, circling around him in a show of agility. ::You promise,:: he repeats, determined not to let this be the last time he flies.

::I promise,:: Blitzwing swears, tone and field truthful. ::If circumstances were different we would've been out here for cycles, but our ship docks in a handful of kliks and Astrotrain and I meant to meet Flare immediately. Which means we'll have to race if we want to get there in time.::

It's a sly addition, one that works - Skywarp immediately perks up.

::When I win, do I get something?::

Blitzwing laughs, sending him the coordinates of their destination and a flight plan. ::Sure. Come on!::

They both take off like shots, streaking up along the side of the space station, engines burning hot as they both treat energon like carbon. It's freedom, and it ends all too soon as they round the curve of the station, finding the cavernous openings that denote the docking bays.

Flying through the force fields that seal atmosphere into the bays tickles Skywarp's plating, and he slows at the sudden assault on his vents - after the void of space, the sudden influx of air and organic compounds is rough to take in.

Blitzwing pulls into the station behind him and overtakes him, guiding him through the crowd of ships and drones and service vehicles. The docking bay is busy, filled with dozens of strange ships and stranger aliens, the whole place a buzzing hive of activity that Blitzwing navigates with ease, bringing Skywarp through the bustle to their dock.

::There she is,:: Blitzwing says with a note of pride in his voice. ::The _Tank.::_

Skywarp sweeps the ship with his sensors, awe filtering into his field as he takes in the sheer size of the ship. It's a massive, rounded shape with engines lined up at the rear of the ship and multiple triangular lumps dotting its surface.

::It doesn't look like a tank,:: Skywarp says, recalling Blitzwing's altmode.

::It's big, it's armored, and it's got a lot of weapons!:: Blitzwing says, tone offended. ::Why _shouldn't_ I call it what it is?::

::...A starship?::

::That's even worse!:: Blitzwing says with a laugh. ::Come on, Skywarp, we've got crew to meet!::

He dives down, stopping to waggle his wings at what must be a sensor array; when Skywarp gets close enough he waggles his wings at the same spot, spotting the faintly shiny gleam against the ship's hull.

Up this close it feels like the space station did: immense and overpowering with its size, but he compares it to the expanse of nothing he'd flown in and shivers at how small everything is. He hurriedly follows Blitzwing along the curve of the ship, nosing up to his side, nearly brushing wingtips, catching the edge of Blitzwing's field. It's tightly focused, worried in a way that makes Skywarp wonder about what will happen - but he knows better than the comm and ask.

They come up to where the ship's protruded a tunnel that links with the inner wall of the dock and use the flier's entrance next to it, panels spiraling open to reveal the ship's interior.

Just inside stand two armed mechs, both of them watching with cold optics as they glide inside and transform.

::Stay quiet and stay behind me,:: Blitzwing orders, but Skywarp's too busy staring at them. They're both _like_ him in that they're mechanical and shaped in similar ways, but somehow he had been certain other mechs would be identical to each other - Astrotrain and Blitzwing were obvious anomalies, altered by the Quintessons to _be_ different - and all the other mechs he had known were just like him, winged and light.

Not so these mechs: one of them is huge and rounded, its canopy split down its chest and draped over its shoulders. It has wings, but they're blunt and stubby things that hang down vertically, nothing like Skywarp's. It's another flier, but it doesn't look like it belongs in Vos - not as Skywarp knows the city. He wants to talk to it, find out where it came from, why its wings are wrong - but when he meets its optics it only looks angry.

The other mech is weird, different from all of them: it's smaller, and it doesn't have wings at all. Instead it sports wheels tucked behind its pedes, and instead of a curved canopy it has two glassy windows covering its chest. It offers him a tight smile when it spots him watching, but doesn't lower its weapon.

"Where's Astrotrain?" asks the smaller mech, as it looks from him to Blitzwing.

"You'll find out soon enough. Where's Flare? It looks bad if she hides in her quarters," Blitzwing says, putting a hand on Skywarp's shoulder and drawing him back to his side.

"She's not hiding," says the big mech. His voice goes much deeper than Blitzwing's, so low Skywarp immediately wants to hear it again.

"What's your name?" He asks, blinking at the flicker of annoyance he feels from Blitzwing.

"Blitzwing hasn't told you?" asks the big mech, optics losing their hostile edge suddenly. It's almost scary, the way his demeanor changes as he focuses on Skywarp, the anger gone in an instant, and Skywarp's wings flick automatically. "I'm Brass. This is Spector. If you're staying on with us, we'll be your crewmates."

"Which means you can trust us," Spector adds. "The only ones we have a problem with are Blitzwing and Astrotrain. Did they tell you anything about us?"

"No," Skywarp says, immediately deciding not to trust them.

"I'll make it simple," Blitzwing says. "These two took part in the mutiny to get rid of us. Brass here suggested they take the rations off of the shuttle so we'd starve. He's not a _bad_ crewmate, but when he's set for guard-duty on the cargo, take an inventory right after his shift. As for Spector - " He turns to him.

Spector shifts on his pedes, tries an uneasy smile, looks to Brass, and folds when all Brass gives him is an annoyed look. "Flare's waiting for all of you on the bridge. Scope tried to talk her into meeting you somewhere else but that's what Flare wanted, so if you fight..."

"We won't fight," Blitzwing says, and there's a thump as the doors cycle open, admitting Astrotrain. Brass immediately turns, blaster pointing to him. "Asters!" Blitzwing's tone is cheery, "We get a confrontation on the bridge, and these two have agreed to escort us there."

"Good for them," Astrotrain says, stepping inside. "Why haven't they put their weapons away yet?"

"I thought I'd let them figure that one out on their own," Blitzwing says, shifting so he's between Skywarp and the two mechs. "But I could help them out and point out that the last thing they want is a fight with us."

"Don't bother," Astrotrain says, reaching out to put a hand on Brass' blaster. He looks him in the optics. "We took on a ship full of Sharkticons alone, and then their Quintessons masters. Unless you can say the same, put this away." His tone implies the rest: he wants a fight. Skywarp can feel that readiness in Blitzwing's field - it's sharpened, prepared for a brawl that wouldn't be quick or kind.

Spector is the first to act, his weapon vanishing into his subspace, but Astrotrain waits until Brass follows suit before he steps around him. Blitzwing falls in next to him, Skywarp tagging along, and they all walk ahead of their escort.

::Keep behind us,:: Astrotrain comms him. ::Flare's arrogant and won't take our return lying down. Stay close, too - you're our escape route.::

::Okay.:: Skywarp says. He'd like to mention his flight, or the prize Blitzwing promised him, but he's beginning to get nervous. The Quintessons had been a known quantity, easy to defy once he had the chance. This Flare and her followers - they weren't squishy organics. They were all armored and dangerous.

::...What happens when we fight?:: He asks Blitzwing.

::First priority is to disable any systems you can get access to,:: Blitzwing says. ::The helm's obvious, if you can go in through the faceplate. Wings are next, if they have any, followed by joints. The rest is usually armored, so find out where the plating's thinnest - or bring a really big gun, like my cannon.::

::Oh.:: It's scarily familiar. ::Have you...::

The question fades as they walk in through a set of doors and suddenly they're on the bridge. They hadn't taken any lifts or gone very far, so - Skywarp shivers as he looks at the group of mechs settled around the bridge, all of them turned to watch. The one in the middle, with the fierce glare - that must be Flare, and she must have wanted a direct confrontation if she made them dock the ship like this.

He carefully slips to Blitzwing's side so he can see the room and mechs inside better, and for the moment Blitzwing lets him: there's Flare in the middle, ominous in heavy armor and rugged treads. Twin cannons rise over her shoulders, and her hands are serrated claws - she has her arms crossed, tapping those scary fingers against one arm.

Go for the face, Blitzwing had said. Someone had, in the past: there's an ugly crack down her left cheek that ends under her chin.

No, Skywarp doesn't want to fight her. He tears his optics away, taking in the rest of them. There's a tiny mech standing nearest to Flare, one he'd miss except for its bright optics. There's a small flier with a visor at one console, again different from him, with wider wings that don't seem very elegant. There's a weird wheeled mech sitting at yet another console with its arms and legs held close, seemingly nervous. The last one is medium-sized mech standing near them, visored _and_ masked as it watches them.

Skywarp's gently nudged back behind Blitzwing as he realizes no one is holding weapons, and the only really scary mech in here is Flare.

The visored mech keeps looking at him and he revises it to two mechs, but still - the biggest, most dangerous mechs in the room are Astrotrain and Blitzwing by his count, and the nerves begin to fade away just a little bit.

"Hand over the ship and rank and you can stay on," Astrotrain says. "You'll get demoted back to regular crewmate, but we aren't interested in clamping you to the hull."

"Except we are, so go ahead and try to shoot us," Blitzwing says, field excited.

"Blitzwing." Astrotrain says, and the room is silent, waiting for Flare's response.

"This crew isn't about to run head-first into the jaws of another Quintesson lab," Flare says with a voice as low as Brass'. "I'll step down if you agree to that."

"Crew doesn't get to dictate policy," Astrotrain counters.

"The Captain _doesn't_ get to put the crew in the way of Quintesson Judicators."

"Oh, like they're any more dangerous than an armed frigate," Blitzwing says. "Would it _help_ if you could watch one die?"

Flare's optics flash as she turns to him, uncrossing her hands, fingers curling into fists. "Do not accuse me of _cowardice!_ This little show of bravado you're putting on - do not attempt to convince _me_ you weren't shaking in your casing when you went into that lab!"

"We were," Astrotrain says, tone flat, the echo rendering his words oddly empty. "Quintessons like to dissect escaped experiments. Find out what makes them tick. There was a chance we'd get unlucky. We nearly did, at the end." Anger enters his tone: "Having a crew and an armed ship at our backs would have drastically altered the odds."

"You cowards would have enjoyed taking the Sharkticon ship," Blitzwing says. "They were easy."

"It's done," Astrotrain says, tone flat again. "Stand down, Flare."

Another tense moment: Flare's frame glows, the air over her vents wavering with the heat. Skywarp moves to put a hand on Astrotrain's arm, prepared to move them if tension turns into violence; his movement draws her optics and he freezes, pinned by her stare.

"All of this for you," Flare says, and now there's a rumble as Blitzwing shifts his stance, prepared to dive into his altmode and lower his cannon. "I'm hardly going to harm a sparkling - Captain."

Abruptly the tension ends as she steps to the side, and Skywarp shivers, still stuck watching her; she continues to watch him.

"This is Skywarp," Astrotrain says, tone returning to its normal levels as he drops a hand on Skywarp's shoulder. "The only Cybertronian survivor from that lab, now one of our crew. I expect he'll get fair treatment as he's brought up to speed."

"Yes, Captain," says the small mech by Flare's side. "How much training does he need?"

"Plenty. We had to teach him what an energon cube was."

"Okay," says the wheeled mech as it gets up and comes over, pointing to Skywarp, all nerves gone suddenly. "You're with me. You two report in later for your scans."

Skywarp blinks, wings hiking back up, but before he can ask for a name or an explanation Blitzwing steps to the side.

"This is Redburn," Blitzwing says. "See that pattern on her shoulders? Means she's a medic, and that means you can trust her to repair you - and as long as you're both part of this crew, you're completely safe around her. So go on. Comm if you need anything."

Skywarp nods, switching to comms. ::Will you be in here the whole time?::

::We'll be on the ship, but not necessarily on the bridge. I'll send coordinates whenever we move.::

Skywarp relaxes, finally willing to follow Redburn. They leave the bridge, barely going farther than a few doorways before she turns them into a wide room. There are berths lining one side of the room, strange looking equipment lining the rest of it, and a desk near the front of the room.

"Medbay," Redburn says. "Everyone takes a turn in here after any major scuffles, just to check for viruses and lingering infections. Sit there, please."

"...What are you going to do?" Skywarp asks, carefully having a seat. He's nervous, memory files helpfully reminding him that it's like every time the Quintessons examined him before and after their experiments and training. "Is this going to hurt?"

"Absolutely not," Redburn says, patting his arm. "I'm going to scan you - it'll feel weird, but it won't hurt - and then I'm going to plug into your medical access ports, assuming you have those, and I'll request a system scan."

Skywarp immediately sticks his arm out, panel retracting to reveal his ports.

"Do that first? Alright," she says, metal folding back on her finger as she extends her cables to plug into him. A system scan is easy to produce and easy to send, and since it says he's okay, maybe she won't have to run her own scans - but she catches him with the tickle of scanners anyways, the sensation flicking over his wings and torso and pedes and then back over his helm and hands. "Sorry," she says, field actually apologetic. "I thought it would be better to get it over while you're worried about it than catch you later."

Skywarp shrugs his wings at her, closing his panel when she unplugs. He stays put, waiting for her verdict, afraid of needles and worse but refusing to let it show.

"You don't need my services," Redburn says after a prolonged pause, optics glowing with new intensity. "If you permitted it, I'd like to take more detailed scans of that generator you're sporting."

"No," Skywarp says immediately, pulling his arm close, before he slumps and reluctantly lies back on the berth. "...Okay. I'm sorry."

Redburn blinks at him, optics winking off and then on before she puts a gentle hand on his arm.

"No one is forcing you to do anything here," she says clearly. "I'm not a Quintesson, and I don't want to be seen as one."

Skywarp slowly sits up, warring with himself - he could 'warp away, get himself back to Blitzwing and Astrotrain. He could pull out the blaster in his subspace, pretend he knows how to use it. He _could_ attempt to let Redburn prove she's trustworthy.

Slowly he relaxes his posture, watching as she takes a step back, keeping her hands to herself now.

"You're not a Quintesson," he says, and it's weird, the way her field immediately fluxes with relief and concern.

"Of course not. None of us are!"

Maybe he can ask questions. Maybe he _can_ treat her like he would Blitzwing.

"Why do you want to look at my generator?"

"Curiosity, but also professional need-to-know," she says. "I've never seen anything like it before, and as a medic I need to understand how it works so if it's damaged or begins to malfunction, I can repair it. The Captains may not have explained this, but as long as you're part of a unit - " Her vocalizer pops, " - crew, you're due a medic's services."

"Why?"

"Efficiency," Redburn says promptly. "While it's assumed that everyone in the crew knows how to perform basic maintenance and field repairs, it's too time-consuming and expensive to install every mech with a medic's equipment and database, not to mention the training needed for more advanced procedures or specializations. To that end, medics get the training and equipment and then they're assigned to every unit."

"...And you fail if you don't keep everyone in the unit repaired?" Skywarp guesses, shivering at the thought of that kind of responsibility.

"Right," Redburn says. "That's why I want to look at your - "

The door hisses open, admitting an interruption into the room: a mech Skywarp hadn't seen on the bridge. They're built like Flare but a little smaller, and armed with only one off-center cannon resting behind their shoulder. There are more cracks and rents in their armor, too, evidence of past battles - but they don't give off the same field, even if their expression is annoyed.

"Gammaburst! I thought you wouldn't come!" Redburn says, catching a scowl in exchange. "Skywarp, this is our other medic. Not as specialized as me, but if you get damaged I want you to see either her or myself for the best care."

"Do you want to scan me too?" Skywarp asks, deciding he likes the straightfoward glare Gammaburst gives him. This mech doesn't like him and isn't shy about it, and that's trustworthy.

"No," Gammaburst says. "I want to see you teleport."

"...What?"

"The Captains sent down an order. Watch you teleport and see if we can explain it."

"Oh." Skywarp says, hopping off of the berth. "Do you have energon? I need a lot of fuel for it."

"Dispenser's right over there," Gammaburst says. "Redburn, did you get your scans?"

"I did," Redburn says. "Skywarp, if you could teleport across the room for starters...?"

"Okay," Skywarp says, glancing at the spot against the far wall before focusing, activating programs that are keyed to him and him alone. It feels like dislocating, like his sensors want to deactivate from a non-existent strain, and then he's gone.

Between, there are flashes, something he can hardly recognize or focus on. Space doesn't make sense here, until it does. He looks at the wall, then at Gammaburst and Redburn, who are staring back at him, until Redburn turns her head.

"There was some kind of afterimage," she says, coming over to him; Gammaburst follows. "How do you feel, Skywarp?"

"Normal," Skywarp says, but he holds still for her scan, enduring Gammaburst's intense stare. "Are you going to scan me too?"

"Don't have the equipment," Gammaburst says with a shrug. "Her scanners are reliable, so trust them."

"Okay," Skywarp says, shifting uneasily as the scans continue, focused on his middle. It takes longer this time, and he finally loses patience, vanishing again as he reappears near the dispenser. Redburn jerks, and Gammaburst's cannon drops to her shoulder, tall enough to work in his rootmode, but it rises back up when she spots Skywarp; he's already poking buttons on the dispenser, frowning at it.

"Why isn't it working?"

"Punch the top left buttons twice and the one on the bottom," Gammaburst says. "You'll have to let Redburn do that again from the beginning."

"No," Skywarp says, punching the right buttons and taking the cube as soon as it's full. "That hurt."

"I'm sorry," Redburn says. "I didn't realize it would be sensitive."

"It felt like someone was poking me really hard," Skywarp informs her, before draining the cube and filling it again.

"Then we can pass on the scan," Redburn says. When Skywarp reaches out with his field to check, she's busy thinking; he's never felt anyone feel so focused before. He snaps his field back, draining the second cube, deciding he doesn't want to be here anymore.

::Blitzwing?::

::Got a problem?::

::I want to fly.::

There's a pause, probably Blitzwing talking to others or doing something important.

::I can't go with you, but Ion's agreed to fly with you if you're willing to follow her orders.::

::Who's Ion?::

::Ship's pilot,:: Blitzwing says, sending a visual of one of the mechs from the bridge. ::Not a talkative type, but she can bring you back if something goes wrong out there.::

It's hardly a choice: ::Okay! Can we go now?::

::Meet her by the airlock and have fun.::

//

"He's just a sparkling," Blitzwing explains a final time. "Don't let him get into trouble."

That's in one audial. In the other:

"Why _not_ strike them first? First you want us to fight the Quintessons, now you want us to play nice. Why?"

Astrotrain deliberately ignores Flare's question for the moment, optics focused on Scope. He's just given her an order, and he's hardly going to interrupt that to give Flare answers she doesn't deserve.

"It's possible, Captain," Scope says finally. "May I work with Synth?"

"Of course. Make sure it's prepared within the cycle."

Scope salutes and walks away, collecting their comms-mech and getting to work. Now he deigns to turn to Flare, noting Ion's departure and Blitzwing's returned focus.

"The Quintessons have something we need," Astrotrain explains finally, not that it appeases Flare. She's been nominally respectful, but it will be days yet before she completely adjusts to her easy defeat. "We play nice until Scope and Synth have emptied their systems of all the information we can use, and then we leave."

"Why not fight them?"

"Bad location for it. I don't want to include others in this, and if I need to remind you, there is a Sharkticon ship already docked here, and likely more inbound. The longer they keep us here, the worse our odds. So. Are you going to lead a wild attack on your own?"

"Don't insult me," Flare growls. "What exactly do we need from them?"

Better she finds out from him than the crew's gossip: "They installed an experimental generator into Skywarp. It's useful for now, but we saw a larger one destabilize. He's _not_ going into combat situations or getting knocked around until we've learned more."

"You brought a walking bomb on board," Flare says softly.

"I brought a sparkling on board," Astrotrain corrects. "You're to treat him as such, and assist with his training."

Flare blinks, caught by surprise. "You'd let me near him?"

"He's crew. You're crew. Yes," Astrotrain pauses to let that sink in, keeping his field professional as Flare goes through a mixture of astonishment, embarrassment, and fierce anger. "Additional point. This generator allows him to teleport. It consumes a lot of fuel, but he can refuel between jumps."

"What kind of range does he have with that?" Flare asks, immediately caught by the tactical options opening up to all of them.

"At least one AU," Astrotrain says. "We had to evacuate the Quintesson lab, and he brought us out far enough for it to explode without touching us."

"And it was his second jump in as many kliks," Blitzwing adds. "If we could get him stabilized and teach him how to fight like us - "

They're all silent for a moment. It's sinking in exactly how useful Skywarp could be, how valuable a prize he is. Astrotrain doesn't let himself smirk or feel triumph, not yet, instead moving on.

"Flare. I want a report of everything you did while we were away. Get to it."

Flare snaps a quick salute and leaves without a word to produce it, leaving Astrotrain clear to turn to Blitzwing.

::We've got a cycle before we renew relations with the Quintessons. I need you to check on the rest of the crew and the ship while I get us clearance to leave.::

Blitzwing nods to him, moving off to check on their house while he puts things in order with the locals. There's a lot to clean up: the Phytian's general dislike of fires, and subsequent fines. The repeated messages from the Bhrers, Llx, and whatever species Jekka is. The _other_ species who want to hire their services, warn them off, or offer trade. A whole motley of messages he'd normally delegate to Synth or Scope, but due to the need to publically re-establish himself as the mech in charge of the _Tank,_ he does them himself.

To the Phytians: fines repaid, apologies offered, and all due courtesies offered to the station-owners. A minor note that he's sent two of their fliers to exercise outside the station.

To the Bhrers: gratitude for a safe journey, refusal of all other contact.

To the Llx: the same. No mention made of legal charges, and if they attempt to follow up on any counts he will grind them into powder himself; a note he doesn't add to the message.

And so on. It's diplomatic work that as a rule most Cybertronians lack skillsets for, but they _are_ fairly adaptable, and as fun as a fighting escape would be, he _does_ intend to return.

Additional work: cargo manifestos, and confirmation thereof with Blitzwing. Crew manifestos and statuses, confirmed with Redburn. General notice sent to the crew to report if they notice any missing energon or flight-frames who aren't Skywarp, explanations forthcoming at a future briefing. Ship report, confirmed with Gammaburst.

::You feel happy,:: Blitzwing says to him nearly a cycle later as he returns from his duties. ::Everything in order?::

::Nearly. We may want to raid more Quintesson labs in the future - I've got six missives from aliens who want to hire us.::

::Flattering,:: Blitzwing says, sliding into a chair near his and plugging into the console, reviewing the data. ::Any we're interested in taking?::

::Not yet,:: Astrotrain says, shunting the relevant files to him. ::The Quintessons haven't deigned to send us any messages yet.::

::Not even a threat?::

He shakes his helm, resting his chin on a hand as he watches the list of arrivals and departures update. It's crowded, with ships waiting outside for the docks to open up, and he bets the Phytians have their fronds full opening up more space.

::Synth,:: he comms, getting a quick ping as acknowledgement. ::Tell me you're tracking who's getting priority on docks.::

The comms-mech sends back another acknowledgement, directing him to the running programs recording ship names and species, as well as the list of ships who request docking clearance more often than considered polite.

::Thanks.:: Synth had been one of their luckier finds when they had been looking for more crew. They may have been a comms mech, sure, one of the creepiest subtypes of Cybertronian, but they had been nothing less than professional in service to the crew, and he was thankful for their presence, if only for data-gathering like this. It made it easier to pick out ships to keep an optic on, and later when they did have to take work, this kind of data would factor into which aliens he chose as clients. ::...Synth, did Flare make use of your services?::

::Scope did, Captain.::

Which was to say, Flare didn't, and Scope covered her aft. Again.

"We might want to call Skywarp back in," Blitzwing says outloud, drawing Astrotrain's attention to the arrivals list: a second Quintesson ship taking place in the queue.

//

Shadows follow him as he flies, Ion so often putting herself between himself and the local star in their game of tag that he'd be annoyed if he weren't busy with pushing his thrusters as hard as he can, often tumbling through space in crazy patterns that leave him dizzy and Ion staring after him.

She's been silent supervision, almost creepy about it except that she'd agreed to his proposed game of tag, and now they're who-knows-how-far from the space station, engines thrumming with exertion. Skywarp rolls lazily in the air, allowing her to transform and touch his wing lightly; he transforms to grin at her.

::That was fun!::

She nods, something wistful flicking through her field before she points back towards the station.

::What is it?:: Skywarp asks, pointing his sensors in that direction; it's just the station, nothing exciting to look at.

Ion gestures for him to follow and he reaches to bat at her wing, annoyed.

::I'm not done flying!::

Ion twists away from his touch, optical band narrowing, and finally speaks: ::You never will be.::

::What's _that_ supposed to mean?::

::You. Your kind. You fly until you burn out. Addicts, all of you.:: Her tone is weird, her visor flashing. It feels like he's talking to an alien, but -

::You've met others like me?::

Ion shrugs her wings at him and flies away, forcing him to chase her. It's tag and she's it, with engines much weaker than his but she's so nimble he can't even brush her wingtips, and by the time she stops dancing out of his way they're up against the station's side, hidden from the local star.

::Vosian seekers,:: she says, visor gazing off around the curve of the station; whatever she sees he misses it, stuck staring at someone who might have answers to his numerous questions.

::Have you been to Vos?:: He asks, clutching her arm.

::Yes. Bad place. Arrogant. Full of fliers. Addicts,:: she adds in a rapid patter. ::Gliders not real fliers. Not seeker-framed. Why are you being followed?::

At the last she pushes him against the space station, and a seeker shoots past them, its frame flickering with glitchy artifacts before it vanishes from Skywarp's visual feed. Ion takes his hand and they begin to fly, skimming the edge of the station as they move.

Skywarp stares blankly after her for the first few kliks, then abruptly leans forward, mouth working before he remembers comms. ::I don't know! That looked like the seeker from before, but they're bad, and I don't know how they work! They didn't hurt Astrotrain, even if they took him for a few kliks, but it wasn't a big deal, so tell me about Vos? Do you have visuals?::

::What happens if they catch us?:: Ion asks, looking him in the optics for the first time.

Skywarp can only shrug at her, and she looks away from him, looking around then jerking him sideway so they're missed by another pass from that glitching seeker.

Astrotrain's voice abruptly comes to him through the comms: ::Stick to Ion and get back to the ship as fast as you can.::

::Okay!:: Skywarp says, seizing on the words "as fast as you can" and wrapping his arms around Ion in a hold before he fires up his generators - and they're gone, dropping back down in the starship's bridge, making Blitzwing jump when he spots them.

Ion jerks out of his hold, landing on her aft on the deck, visor bright, field shocked.

"All wings attached?" Astrotrain says, glancing over his shoulder at them before gesturing to Ion. "Get us out of here."

"Course?" Ion asks, immediately getting up and heading for the controls.

"Cybertron," Astrotrain says, which has Ion turning around to look at him. "We can't shake that kind of pursuit, so we're going to lead them straight to a place where they can take all of the seeker-frames they want," he explains. "Or not. Frag knows what they want, but maybe someone from Altihex can help us explain how to stop them from popping in and out."

"Yes," Ion confirms, and within moments the ship's shuddering as its engines warm up. Just like that they're leaving, and that puts Vos within Skywarp's reach.

Blitzwing offers him a hand when Skywarp tries to get up, and he takes it, grinning with fierce excitement.

//

"Cybertron? That must be a lie. This ship _does not_ go to Cybertron. Or did their time with the Quintessons scramble their processors? This crew signed up to get away from there, not return for any whim!"

Scope says nothing, waiting for Flare's outburst to stop. She waits with one hand wrapped around her wrist, field held close. This is how Flare works: she gets angry first, reacting before she begins to think. It's best to wait until her temper has burnt down to embers before she speaks up.

Flare directs a burning stare in Scope's direction, and she lifts her chin. They're in quarters, privacy away from even the prying optics of the comms mech.

"Well?"

Scope blinks, surprised by this, but she says what she's thinking: "I don't believe we can change their minds, Flare."

"I know we can't," Flare growls, getting up to pace. It lasts kliks before she turns to face Scope again. "Frag the captains. We're going home."

"What?"

"Once we reach Cybertron, we're leaving. We'll travel around and find out who's warring with which city this time. We can work as mercenaries."

If Scope were unaccustomed to Flare's impulsive ways, she could be completely surprised by this. As it is, she bows her head and accepts that their time as pirates has ended; Flare catches her arm and hauls her close.

"Don't be upset," Flare says, hands coming to rest on her hips.

"I'm not," Scope says. "It...will be good for you to get away from the Captains."

Flare laughs, deep and rumbling; the sound makes Scope quiver as she's hauled back on the berth and kissed.

"Transform," Flare orders, and Scope obeys, folding down into her altmode with a profound sense of relief. Like this, she can't do anything without Flare's say so, and it's safe. She can feel the familiar pressure of Flare's fingers on her frame, but that's all she can sense like this. She's pointed down against the berth, seeing through the layers of the ship and beyond, and Flare even tends to that, gently affixing a cap to her scope, one of two that only they possess, items that can actually blind her.

::Comfortable?:: Flare asks, and Scope sends an affirmative hum. ::Good. Let's talk.::

Here she is safe and free to say anything that Flare needs to hear without any fear of Flare losing her temper against her. Flare's too well trained to ever throw or damage her in this state, and the deprivation of her senses helps Scope focus on what needs to be said.

::They didn't humiliate you,:: Scope says. ::Leaving them alive was the best option.::

Only silence from this. It's cruel of her to say these things now that the argument has been won. The grip on her frame tightens, then slowly loosens.

::We're the only mechs who will leave the ship, even if we're pursued by two Quintesson ships. The others don't have anywhere to go, and they won't follow us.::

Which did two things to their value as mercenaries: if multiple mechs followed them, they could sell themselves as an irregular unit, flexible and powerful. They could hire other single mercenaries and band together, thus increasing their value.

As they hadn't attracted any followers - not from this band - that meant they could be attached to any unit, near seamlessly placed into any army. The pay wouldn't be as good, of course, but they were both trained warriors, graduates of Tarn's efficient machinery.

::I want to kill them before we leave,:: Flare says, soft, so soft Scope can hardly hear it.

A straight no never works. It only puts her handler on edge and once got a mech killed. Scope waits a handful of astroseconds before saying anything, letting Flare's temper smolder.

::Skywarp will never follow you. He views Blitzwing and Astrotrain as guardians. I can only shoot one mech at a time. You can only shoot two at a time, with imperfect accuracy. We are incapable of terminating the three of them without resorting to even messier means. Either give me a foolproof plan, or let them go.::

If Flare growls, she can't hear it.

It takes time for Flare's grip to loosen again, and then she sets to maintenance, meticulous care that has Scope's spark quivering deep within its casing. Flare only takes her apart when she's angry enough to kill; her systems report missing components and there is nothing she can do.

It makes her spark sing.

A single clawed finger traces a delicate line along her spark, bare seconds after she felt the chamber crack open, and Scope wails soundlessly, fear singing through her, making her feel vertigo without moving. It's agony; exquisite.

Flare lets her go all too soon, carefully putting her back together and removing the cap on her scope, fingers tracing up and down her barrel as Scope gathers her wits, tries to remember the sequence back to her rootmode.

She unfolds into Flare's lap, frame limp and exhausted as she turns to look up at her, those claws still tracing up and down her arm and side.

"Cable," Flare demands, and she offers her wrist, a panel retracting to offer her link-up cables. Flare guides them into her ports, optics dimming as they complete the handshake and sync up; Flare's invasion of her self is completed with this, taking everything about her past days and going through it.

It's relief. Her commander has all of the information she may have improperly passed on, and the sensation of Flare's programs sifting through her archives is almost as exquisite as her claws. Scope dims her optics, limp and trusting as Flare examines her.

"Any other judgments?" Flare asks, interrupting what is usually a quiet activity, and Scope cracks an optic, looking up at her.

A long pause. A subtle invitation extended through their link-up. Scope's optics slide to Flare's chest, and she focuses, gaze sharpening until she can see through the thick plating, all the way through to Flare's spark; it's healthy, spinning as vibrantly as it's supposed to.

A longer look reveals the nervous skips, the tell-tale signs of a mech under stress.

"Flare," Scope says, suddenly aware that despite the total power imbalance she could hurt her commander as easily as if she transformed again and fired. It's not a sensation she welcomes. "I don't want to fight Quintessons."

It's the plainest truth she can give Flare, and she gets nothing in return.

"None of the crew did. You saw how relieved they were. If not for you," she nearly slips and says _us,_ "the Captains would have ordered us in, using this starship. The Quintessons would have had warnings about us. There would have been casualties."

They still don't know the specifics of how the attack unfolded. Scope can only guess at how they would have cracked the lab, but common sense dictates that the lab would have means to detect unknown, unexpected ships.

It's validation for Flare's actions.

"...We wouldn't have this conversation if they had died," Flare says, and nods finally, spark settling. Scope closes her optics again, trusting that will be the end of it.

It is, and Flare finishes her examinations, allowing Scope's cables to unplug. They're quiet as they settle into the berth, and Scope's half shut-down when Flare speaks again.

"I'm satisfied, Scope. Good work."

As close to a 'thank you' as Scope ever hopes to receive. She smiles up at her for a moment, then lets herself drift into recharge.

//

"Skywarp - Skywarp!" Blitzwing says, catching his wing as he passes, bringing Skywarp's excited dashing to a halt. "Cybertron's a long flight. Longer than it was to the 'station."

"By how much?" Skywarp asks, all but vibrating in his hold.

"Months," Blitzwing says.

Skywarp's mouth opens, then closes, and he scowls.

"Think of it as time to train," Blitzwing hastens to add. "You have a lot to learn about flying and target practice, and I don't think you want to try to fly in front of any trained fliers as you are now. They'd laugh at you."

It arrests the scowl, and Skywarp reaches out to shove at him.

"Let's _go!_ I don't want to waste any time!"

"Okay, okay," Blitzwing says, and he lets himself be hauled off. It wasn't how he'd planned to spend his off-shift, but it's not like he's going to argue with Skywarp over this.

//


End file.
